


Secrets and Lies

by Fractured



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Draco and Hermione are in Love, F/M, Flashbacks, Legilimency, Occlumency, Oral Sex, POV Hermione Granger, Pansy and Theo are Married, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Semi-Dark Draco, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Voyeurism, more tags will be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fractured/pseuds/Fractured
Summary: Hermione is swept up in a relationship with a man she doesn't trust. As secrets are uncovered about Draco's past and present, Hermione has to decide how much she can forgive.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 26
Kudos: 65





	1. Coveted

**Author's Note:**

> Most chapters will contain smut. It's all shameless with very little plot. Mentions of bi-sexuality, but this is a het fic and all the slashy stuff will be posted as a separate collection. Looking for a beta if anyone is interested!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter begins as an established relationship, and backstory is provided toward the end and in the next chapter.

Pansy kissed his cheek.

It was only a little peck from a married woman, so when Hermione felt the jealousy rise up within her, white-hot and threatening to expose itself, she took a deep breath and smiled.

"Come over for dinner soon," Pansy said in a chipper tone, her hand still resting on his cheek. "We've missed you."

She turned to Hermione and, for a split second that felt like an eternity, sized her up from head to toe like she was unraveling a complicated mystery. She had been polite, Hermione would give her that, but she suspected it was a well-crafted facade, hiding a layer of bigotry and general distaste.

During that fraction of a second, the rest of the bustling alley melted away and she was standing only amidst Draco and Pansy, the two most hateful bullies at Hogwarts. She wondered what on earth she was doing with them, and how on earth her life had changed so significantly in the last few months that this was a normal afternoon.

And then the moment was gone, and before Hermione could object or form any opinion on the matter at all, the other witch leaned in and kissed her cheek exactly as she had Draco's a moment before. Soft plump lips landed too close to her own and remained a fraction of a second too long. Perfume flooded her senses, and instead of pulling away Hermione leaned in a fraction of an inch.

Pansy smiled against her cheek and then looked her in the eyes almost warmly.

"Bring her with you, Draco," she said without looking away from Hermione. Did she have dimples?

"Unlikely," he drawled as he grabbed Hermione's hand. "But please, give Theo our best."

He tugged, breaking Hermione's sudden fixation with Pansy's long, dark eyelashes. The perfume, Hermione thought, it must be some sort of magic. There was just no way other logical reason that she would feel so strangely around the witch.

"You don't socialize with Pansy and Theo much anymore," Hermione observed over lunch. "You used to be best friends."

Draco studied her. "Yes." He wiped his lips with a napkin and placed it back on the table. "We're still friends. I just...need some distance from them."

Distance, coincidentally, that he'd put between them shortly after he'd started dating Hermione. "I don't want you to lose your friends because of me."

"I appreciate your concern," he replied, and then with a veil of indifference he added, "I keep them at a distance for my own reasons."

The shape of Pansy's lips were etched into her mind. Draco kept everyone at a distance, including Hermione, his girlfriend of over two months. There were too many secrets between them, too many topics avoided. She felt like she barely knew him at all. Did they know him? Pansy and Theo? After all their years together at Hogwarts and since, she thought they must know him exceptionally well.

She took a sip of her tea, the fragrance soothing her nerves. "Pansy invited us both to dinner. Maybe that's a sign that they've changed as well. For the better."

Draco gave her an odd look, perhaps amused or annoyed, or a bit of both. "Whatever it sounded like, Granger, it wasn't a dinner invitation," he said quietly. As he watched her expression change to one of confusion, he added, "I know their intentions, and they aren't what you think."

She considered his words for a moment. "Do they hate me that much?"

He looked like he was about to say something and then changed his mind. "Just... do me a favor and stay away from them."

* * *

"I saw Theo today in the lift."

Draco's mood changed instantly, the walls between them reconstructed and reinforced with her one, simple little sentence. He set his glass of wine on the side table next to his wingback chair. "Oh?"

Hermione watched him carefully, gauging his reaction. "He said to tell you hello. And to ask you to return his owls."

Draco's hand tightened around his glass. "Yes, I'll be sure to do that."

"He's making an effort to reach out to you. To be kind to me. Maybe it's time we-"

"I'd prefer that you stay away from him and Pansy."

She pursed her lips. "Theo and I work together."

"You're on different floors. It shouldn't be a hardship."

"Tell me why you want me to stay away from them and I will," Hermione replied, lifting a book from the shelf and opening the front cover. He kept all his first editions there in the study. It was an impressive collection, if also a bit pretentious.

After a minute of silence she asked the question that continued to rattle around in her mind. "Are you afraid they will spill your secrets?"

He blinked, then stood up and approached her, attempting to disarm her with an innocent look. "Are you afraid I have secrets?"

"Do you?"

"We all do." He twisted his ring with his thumb. "We all have things we would rather not talk about. Don't we?"

Her visit with Ron last week popped to mind, which she had failed to mention to him.

"I've seen you at your worst," she replied, putting the book back in its place, "and I've forgiven you. Is there really anything left that you think I wouldn't forgive?"

"No," he said. She thought that was a lie. "But there are always going to be uncomfortable truths and things that have happened that don't require revisiting. Theo and Pansy... they are my past. You are my future. Is it unreasonable to want to keep them separate? Start fresh?"

His hand slipped around her waist and he rested his forehead against hers. When she didn't respond, he smiled and kissed her gently, lips parting over hers and encouraging her to do the same. Her body responded to him even when her mind said she shouldn't.

He said she was his  _ future _ .

It was the first time he'd been clear on his intentions to keep her in his life. First hint at how long this thing between them might last. She kissed him back hopefully, a pressure building in her chest that she'd been fighting against for weeks.

She might love him.

She had never felt anything as strong as she felt for Draco. The only thing holding her back from categorizing it as  _ love _ was the certainty that there were things about him she didn't know. He was so... kind. It was such a drastic change from the boy he once was. There had to be more below the surface, beyond the gentleman he'd grown up to be. She just knew it.

The way he kissed her neck made her toes curl in her high heels. His gentleness was such a contrast to what she had expected when their relationship first began, and all this time she had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. No one could be this perfect, especially not him.

A moan escaped her as he pulled her closer to him, the content of his tented trousers pressing against her hip.

How could she really love someone she didn't entirely know?

Distracting her completely from her inquiry he lowered his head and captured her lips in another heated kiss. His hands traveled over her stomach and hips as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Somehow she was still marveled, even after being with him for months, that he knew exactly how to touch her and kiss her to make her forget the world. He caught her hand and kissed her palm, causing pleasant tingles to run up her arm and down the length of her spine. His eyes were dark with need, burning into her as she leaned up on her tip toes and kissed him again.

He tugged gently at her wrist and guided her toward the desk, and then he wrapped an arm around waist and sat her down on the edge. Her chest felt warm with desire but also uneasy.

They'd never had sex outside of a bed before, let alone on a desk passed down  _ eight generations _ . And in such a well lit room—

But then he hooked his hands below her knees and spread them wide, looking down at her exposed thighs hungrily and she thought maybe... Maybe that's why he wanted to do it.

He flicked open the top button to her shirt and kissed the exposed skin on her sternum.

By the time he reached the fourth button, she had forgot all about her worries again. He was so good to her, so attentive. He pulled the cup of her bra down below her breast and teased her nipple with his tongue, fingers drifting over her hips and thighs.

Everything he did was elegant. Every move, careful and calculated.

He pushed her shirt off her shoulders and tugged at her hips, pulling her firmly against the bulge in his trousers. His kiss was thorough and almost reverent at first, but the warm friction kindled something deeper—almost feverish.

To be consumed by lust, that was a feeling she had never felt before being with him. It felt urgent sometimes, like they couldn't get close enough quickly enough.

It was in these moments, when a sort of raw desperation threatened to pull them under, a growing frenzy of hands and lips and  _ teeth, _ that he would take a steadying breath and lull her slowly back into the familiar. Like she was too close or he felt too— _ much _ . Too out of control. It wasn't an abrupt or disappointing shift, it simply existed, rousing her curiosity from time to time.

Like clockwork, he stood up tall and hovered over her, peering down into her eyes. A soft smile and a softer kiss.

"Lets go upstairs," he said, his thumb grazing over her jawline.

Hermione tucked her hand inside his pocket, aching to be closer. Wishing he'd open up to her. "We can stay if you want."

His hand traveled down the column of her neck, eyes following a path he usually explored with his hands and not his eyes. "We have plenty of time to defile the furniture. You've had a long day."

So protective.

"I'll be sure to tell you when I'm exhausted."

The dark look Draco gave her bolstered her confidence. He tugged at his collar, stepping backward to give her room as she hopped off the desk. His gaze hot on her skin as she reached behind her and unzipped her skirt. Pushed it over her hips. Stepped out of it.

And there she was, in her lacy white underthings and her best pair of nude heels, in the middle of his study, his wide, dark eyes, and the thick bulge in his trousers giving her the sort of courage she was less familiar with.

"Sit," she whispered, eyes darting toward the wingback chair beside the fireplace.

Draco walked across the room and stopped in front of the chair, hesitating for a split second before he followed her instruction.

He leaned back and set his hands on the armrest. A storm raged in his eyes as she stepped toward him, reaching behind her for the clasp to her bra. She stopped in front of him, two steps away, and he drank her in as she pulled the straps slowly off each arm, revealing herself to him inch by inch.

His hand moved over his ribcage near his heart, eyes dragging over her form.

She hooked her thumbs in her knickers and moved them back and forth across the lace edge.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he said quietly.

It was the encouragement she needed to push the fabric down, just an inch over her hips.

"Turn," he said. She bit down on her lip, surprised at her own reaction to a simple instruction. It wasn't like she enjoyed being bossed around but—

There was this piece of her that hadn't been certain what to do next. What he would want.

He'd eliminated her doubt.

God, he was sexy when he looked at her that way.

She turned slow, trying hard to move gracefully on her heels.

She heard fabric rustling as she pushed her knickers down over her thighs. He exhaled audibly when she pushed her knickers over her knees, breaking the restless silence.

She wasn't horrible at this, she decided.

Hermione pulled at the heels of her shoes and stepped out of them one by one, kicking her knickers off her ankle. She was bent over in an ungodly display. Too bare. Too revealing. She fought the urge to cover herself.

She gasped in surprise as her knickers vanished from the floor with a silent summoning charm.

This was a night of discovery. A random Thursday evening—it could be the day Draco Malfoy stopped acting like such a gentleman.

What was he afraid of?

She stood upright, suddenly conscious of the state of her curls after being tipped upside down. It stuck out wildly at every angle—she could feel it. So she twisted it back and lifted her up hair off her neck, startled when she felt him kiss her between her shoulder blades. She shivered as his lips and tongue moved up her spine to the nape of her neck, his hands cupping her backside and tracing her curves with his fingertips.

The air felt warm around her. Charged. Every touch had a purpose—deliberate and effective. So good she wanted to cry, beg, give herself over to it. But what she wanted most was to make  _ him _ feel that way. To see him desperate and aching, reacting to her viscerally.

He cupped her breasts with a feather light touch, hard nipples scraping against the palm of his hand. It felt like a game of deprivation, the way he teased her. Every little move sent a jolt to her center, and when he moved one hand between her thighs and felt the slickness there, her head fell back on his shoulder with a moan.

So skilled. So quick at learning her.

He tugged at her hips and pulled her backward into the chair with him. Down onto his lap. She could feel his hard length against her bottom and she squirmed against it just a little. His hands tightened on her breasts, his creased brow buried in the crook of her neck.

Draco spread her legs and trailed his hands over her from her thighs up to her neck, slow, provocative strokes that made her feel revered. It was so easy to lose track of her objective when he took control of the situation.

Strong hands lifted her an inch and moved her sideways so she was on his thigh, and he pulled her lips to his for a deep and scorching kiss that made her core tremble. He traced patterns on her skin that left a tingle behind.

She unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his clavicle, and then slid down slowly between his legs until she was kneeling on the rug.

"Granger-"

His Adams Apple moved up and down as she unfastened his trousers, and when she dipped her hand in to release him, he shuddered and grabbed her wrist.

"You don't have to do that."

She didn't have to do anything, no, but she had never put her mouth on him before and he'd done it for her  _ every single time _ they'd had sex. It didn't seem fair that it was always about her.

"Let me," she implored, meeting his eyes with a look she hoped was convincing. She wanted to do this for him.

He released her wrist, his bare chest rising and falling with carefully measured breaths, hand hovering like he might change his mind and pull her away at any moment. Her eyes caught on the expanse of pale skin, the lean muscle beneath her fingertips. She could see his heart racing.

Hermione tugged at his trousers and he lifted his hips up for her. His cock bounced up proudly as she pulled his trousers down to his ankles.

Her nails raked up his thighs as she considered what she was about to do, the length of him a bit intimidating at this angle. She watched him for little reactions, which was all he was usually prone to, and she noted all the little things that told her how much he wanted this. His lips parting as she wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. His lashes fluttering as she moved her hand up to the tip and twisted her palm over him, Hands clasped tight on the edges of the armrests.

He was glorious.

She licked her lips and he watched the movement with fascination. His leg twitched against her ribs as she dipped forward, and when she licked the underside of his shaft, he released a shuddering breath. She did it a second time and looked up at him through her eyelashes. When her mouth finally wrapped around his head, his abdomen trembled.

"Fuck," he whispered.

The dark look he gave her, the set of his jaw, they were familiar and yet foreign. Wild and greedy for the pleasure her mouth could give him. She sunk down as far as she could, sliding her tongue out past her bottom lip to catch more of him. His cock twitched in her mouth, and she lifted her head slowly, glancing up at him again. He looked enraptured, caught somewhere between pleasure and torment.

"God, you're perfect," he whispered, sweeping a curl from her cheek and over her shoulder.

She moaned around him, head dipping again. It felt sexy, his fingertips on her cheek and neck, moving lightly over her jaw. He didn't guide her, but he seemed to relish in moving with her, watching her, holding back the curls that threatened to obstruct his view.

She took him deeper and deeper, wetting him with her saliva until her lips were gliding smoothly over his length, sucking softly as she pulled up. Pressing her tongue against the underside as she moved down.

"Fuck that's good—"

Those inches of him she couldn't reach with her mouth, she stroked with her hands, mesmerized by his response to her. Flushed skin. Hips twitching forward. Short bursts of breath matching her pace. He tightened his fist in her hair and then let go abruptly with a muttered apology.

Restless energy looking for an outlet.

He was so hard and tense—

The tip of her tongue rolled over the spot that made him twitch. Just a little more was all he needed.

His unbidden moan confirmed it.

"Hermione—"

Her slick hand moved down his shaft, mouth following her fist again and again until she couldn't take another inch of him. Hips following her as she lifted. His feet planted firmly on the ground.

Hot liquid splashed against her tongue, his breath catching. His thighs moved against her ribcage as she continued. The taste and sound and feel of him spilling out was so sexy she thought she might die from it.

She swallowed and gasped for air as his body gradually relaxed beneath her hands. Her eyes were watering a little, and she wiped the liquid away with the back of her sticky hand as she met his wide eyed gaze.

He was a beautiful wreck...and she was suddenly aware of how she must look kneeling naked at his feet, with red-rimmed eyes and wet, swollen lips.

He cupped her cheeks and ran his thumb around her mouth, catching the saliva and come and dipping it in to meet her tongue. And then he kissed her deeply. Appreciatively. Unafraid of his own taste.

"You're staying here tonight," he said when he finally pulled away for air. "I'm making that up to you. Tenfold."

She smiled a little and tucked her head into his neck, curling herself into his lap.

She didn't usually like sleeping at the Manor, but she would do it for him. Scarily, she thought she might do almost anything for him, and the feeling was only magnified after watching that intensely hot orgasm tear through him.

It was a worrisome feeling that she often tried to suppress, that overwhelming desire to make him happy. Sometimes she found herself resisting just for the sake of it, fighting any requests that sounded remotely close to an order, even though he had never requested her to do anything she didn't already want to do. Tonight, the urge to stay in his arms outweighed her concern.

There was a room in the manor that she had never been in, and she had a feeling there were secrets tucked away behind that door which he didn't want her to know about.

That room was on her mind as she laid awake in Draco's bed, staring at his naked shoulder. It was dark, but the moonlight shone through the window in a way that made his skin seem otherworldly. Life had changed so much she could barely believe she was there, and what's more, that she remained with him even though she was certain he was hiding not one, but several things from her.

He was a conundrum.

And she liked solving puzzles.

It seemed so doubtful that his secrets were life-altering. He wasn't a killer or a psychopath, he just... liked his privacy. He liked it so very much that he dodged questions and gave vague answers, and sometimes lied about where he was going and how he spent his day.

Perhaps he was a compulsive liar.

Fear drove many of his actions, but she didn't consider him a coward. No, he had a calculated aversion to certain types of risk and a penchant for others. It could be that he feared to lose what they had, and she did as well. What they had was good. But as close as they had become, there was still a barrier of distrust between them. Questions unasked, answers untold.

His mark. He kept it carefully concealed, even though she knew it was there. She could feel the magic when her hand touched his arm just right.

Wish, her favorite of his house elves, had told her once that he spent hours alone in that room in the east wing, and after saying it the poor elf swiftly attempted to punish herself for her indiscretion. Hermione tried to get into the room once when Draco had left on an errand, but none of the usual unlocking spells seemed to work. She considered another attempt, but wandering the manor alone at night sounded like a truly dumb idea. If her rising didn't wake him, the old paintings or his house elves would surely rat her out.

Why couldn't she take their relationship at face value? She asked herself as she tucked herself back under the blankets. The right thing to do would be to ask him about it, but she had a gut feeling his response would be a lie, or he would have already told her about whatever he was doing.

And lies would tear them apart so much faster than secrets. Secrets she could uncover herself, given enough time and patience.

With his body warm beside her, she eventually fell into an uneasy slumber.

He was in a good mood the next morning. Wish brought them tea and breakfast in bed, at his request. With a smile that left her flushed, he fed her a bite of his papaya and shortly after, breakfast was forgotten entirely.

She liked the way he looked, hovering above her, hair falling into his face, muscles flexing with the strain of his weight and his movements, half-lidded eyes watching her reaction as he moved inside of her.

Being watched so intently still made her uncomfortable sometimes. What did she look like beneath him, with her flushed skin and frizzy morning hair, trying not to make awkward faces as her muscles seized up? However she might look, he seemed to enjoy it immensely. A strong reaction on her part sometimes resulted in his hips stuttering, slowing, his eyes closing tight like he might come just from looking at her and listening to her. It was a good feeling, to have that effect on him.

When he met his own ending, his face was usually tucked away in her neck or between her breasts. But sometimes, like that morning, he would stay hovering above her and lock his eyes onto hers. With his lips parted and brow creased, his breath would halt entirely for one, two, three heartbeats and when he exhaled his eyes would close involuntary as he shuddered. His head would drop forward, because he liked to kiss her at that moment, riding out the last few seconds of bliss.

He was beautiful.

And once again, thoughts of his room in the east wing seemed unimportant. He could be brewing potions or practicing wandwork or any number of harmless things. Acting suspicious and risking all they had built just wasn't worth it.

* * *

**Months earlier**

He had befriended Harry first. It started with a taunt about quidditch that resulted in a not so friendly game of 'catch the snitch', which then turned into a rematch, a weekly competition, and finally drinks at the Leaky bought by the loser. The two men didn't exactly like one another, but they had developed a strange camaraderie that left Ron absolutely fuming. Hermione eventually found herself chatting with Draco weekly at the pub, finding that they had more in common than she would have thought. Their friendship was slow-growing and uneasy at first, but his jokes made her laugh, and his sharp mind made for stimulating conversation which was often lacking in her group.

Ron's objections to Draco's presence had only made him look petty. If Harry and Hermione could set the past aside, why couldn't he do the same?

At the pub one evening, she found herself sharing a pint with the snarky blond while Harry and Ron were cajoling with some old classmates who had walked in. Lavender was with them, one of many reasons she decided to keep her distance. Nerves wracked, she told Draco all about her presentation before the wizengamot later in the week. She had tried to talk to Ron and Harry about it and they were supportive, but somewhat (er, completely) disinterested. She, on the other hand, could think of little else.

"Have lunch with me after. I want to hear all about how you impressed the old sods."

A tickle traveled up her stomach. It was not butterflies. It wasn't. "Or perhaps mourn the loss of my career?"

He raised a brow. "Improbable."

"But possible."

"Last I checked, you had the Midas touch," he said with a smile. It still felt so foreign, to be on the receiving end of his most charming smile. She was so used to his sneers and smirks.

He had perfect teeth.

Cheeks flushing, she looked down at his pint of butterbeer. Anywhere but his face. The liquid was half gone. He was on his second pint. His hand encircled the glass, disturbing the condensation. The pads of his long, thin fingers traced a pattern.

She looked up at Ron to sober her thoughts. He was laughing not six feet from her, completely oblivious that she, his girlfriend of two years, was sitting across from a handsome man...who was inviting her to share a meal.

Lavender's hand grazed his arm.

"Alright then. Lunch," she said, meeting Draco's eyes. Long blond lashes.

"What time are you unchained?" He asked.

When she smiled, he looked down at her mouth.

"Shackles come off at noon," she replied, suddenly aware of how her bottom lip curved in over her f, rather like she was biting it for a split second. "If I'm on good behavior."

"Often then." His adam's apple moved up. Down. "Meet me at the Intermezzo at ten after."

Ron had every right to be suspicious, and she knew that some weeks later. Draco could see that they were unhappy, and he nudged, nay hacksawed a rift between them that was irreparable.

Lunch was delicious and decadent, and Draco was almost predictably wonderful, pulling out her chair and asking her well thought out questions about her presentation. It allowed her to reflect and celebrate her victory in a way that "how did it go! Good? great! Moving on," never quite achieved. Still, in spite of his innate charm, she knew there was more to Draco than he was allowing her to see. Darkness. Secrets. Well hidden prejudices.

"You can do better than that dumb oaf," Draco said of Ron without much bite behind his words. "You deserve more out of life."

"I love him," she said honestly.

"And I love Pansy," he replied with a gesture of indifference, "As anyone should love their oldest friends. But...dating her was a horrible error in judgement."

Pursing her lips, she chose to latch onto the new topic he offered up to her. "Are you still friends with her?"

"Yes. Good friends, with both Pansy and Theo. They were married last August." The corners of his lips tugged upward into a smile. "She's happier with him than she ever was with me. Some people are just...better off friends."

She twisted her cloth napkin in her lap. "I don't know if that's possible for me and Ron."

"You think breaking his poor heart would destroy your friendship?"

She didn't answer. It felt like a betrayal to even have this conversation with Draco Malfoy of all people. Her silence, she feared, had given him the answer he sought.

"People are resilient," he said softly. "Don't assume responsibility for anyone's happiness but your own."

The seed was planted. Everything Ron did for the following two weeks had made her question whether they were really meant to be. And Draco was lovely, intoxicating, witty, and the conversations they had were far more engaging than any she had shared with Harry or Ron in the years they had known each other.

And in spite of their difficult past, she was certain there was a spark, and that he felt it as intensely as she did. Sometimes the way he looked at her left her speechless and weak-kneed, certain he was imagining the same meeting of tongues, sinful embrace. She felt like a horrible person for sharing those quick looks, having those wicked fantasies.

A few weeks later, Hermione arrived at the Leaky long after the others, delayed by unfortunate events which, after the fact, she began to think had been his doing. When she didn't see Ron with the others at the corner booth, she went in search of him, finally stumbling upon him in the back alley.

Kissing Lavender.

Ron didn't see her and she didn't make herself known. There was no point in causing a scene, especially with so many of their friends around. She stepped into the pub quietly and leaned against the wall, remaining out of sight as she composed herself with a few deep breaths. More shocked and disappointed than truly heartbroken, she walked to the booth and whispered to Ginny that she wasn't feeling well and then made a swift exit.

Draco followed her out the door.

"Granger, wait."

She stopped and turned, eager to leave but yet strangely grateful that someone had noticed her arrival and departure with more than a wave or a shrug.

"Is everything alright?" He asked.

"Yes. Everything is...fine."

He looked at her with disbelief, and she thought again about their conversations of Ron. Their recent awareness of one another.

"Did you..." she stumbled over the words and then stopped, swallowing them. She had no proof, and throwing out accusations could ruin her chance of finding any, along with their new friendship which meant more to her than she cared to admit.

"Did I what?"

She shook her head, eyes stinging. "Nothing. I'll see you, Draco."

  
  



	2. Set in Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first and second date.

The amount of appropriate time to wait between relationships was a question hotly debated between Hermione and...Hermione. She had been with Ron for years, and starting something new very quickly after their breakup sounded like a truly awful idea. The advice she would have given a friend in that situation would have matched up with the books and articles she had read, written by experts on the matter. At least one month for every year they had been with their prior partner.

That said, when Draco Malfoy said the words, "I have tickets to the symphony next Saturday. Would you consider accompanying me?" her heart leapt as it hadn't in years.

And she had truly considered declining his offer for about ten ticks of the clock, but saying no to the man she'd been secretly pinning for was an almost impossible feat.

"Yes."

His responding smile had a permanent home in her memory.

* * *

They sat perched in the most exclusive seats at the symphony, hands close but not touching. _Aware of each other,_ she thought, or at least she was aware of him, from the very subtle scent of his cologne to the way his eyes darted every so often to her exposed knee. She wore a blue dress, legs crossed toward him, though she kept considering whether it was more appropriate to cross only her ankles, like muggle royalty. She didn't feel much like royalty, although she was perched in a box shared with a man who made her feel like she _ought_ to be, to be so near him. Would he not rather be here with a pureblood aristocrat? A true lady who knew the proper way to sit, and who understood precisely where the second movement ended and the third began?

Her eyes traveled from the musicians below, upward to the intricate architecture of the ceiling, adorned with the most magnificent living painting she had ever laid her eyes upon. She was transfixed by it. As a solo violin sang, Draco leaned in and whispered close to her ear, "It was a church originally, finished in 1642, just before the war. When the Statute of Secrecy passed, it was the only church in England that was hidden."

Did he know that whispering historical facts in her ear was literally the sexiest thing any man had ever done in her entire life? She thought perhaps he did know that about her, and it was the very reason he had done it. He wanted her to feel the shiver that followed his breath, the delicious tightening behind her navel. He continued, "They converted it to a concert hall in 1820 after religion lost favor with wizarding kind. That's when they added the balcony, the risers, the wood panels."

"For acoustics."

"Yes. Arguably the best acoustics in the world."

It was then that she closed the distance between their hands, grazing her knuckles against his lightly enough that it could have been mistaken as accidental. He smiled, brows raised, and laced his fingers between hers. "The painting," he continued, lips now nearly touching her ear, "was added in 1859 when Montgomery Higgins passed on. He played 1st violin. It was his dying wish to be remembered here."

Her head turned toward him and downward, just slightly. "And the others in the painting, are they great musicians as well?"

Warm lips brushed against her cheek. "Mmhmm."

He drew her in like an ocean current. She'd been swimming against it for weeks, months, perhaps even longer than that if she were honest with herself. But now, with nothing and no one standing between her curiosity and the answer only his arms would provide, she turned her face to his and met his inviting lips with her own.

That first kiss, perfect kiss, was punctuated by the sound of the cello taking over the theme, and on a long, low, ominous string note his tongue swept past her lips. It was slow and sensual, and if she were standing she surely would have swayed on weakened knees. They continued on kissing for nearly the rest of the performance, his elbow resting on the back of her chair, fingers toying with her curls as she listened to the most beautiful music she had ever heard, while being kissed by the most seductive man she had ever met. The passage of time would have been indecipherable, but for the movements that set the pace for their exploration.

When they walked out, her hand on his arm, she didn't want the night to end. If he had invited her to stay with him that night, she would have broken her promise to herself and said yes, surely. But when it was time to part, _or not_ , he held her hands within his and...kissed her goodnight.

It was almost chaste, but for the tongue that swept swiftly over her own before he pulled back and spoke.

"Let's go again next weekend," he whispered against her lips.

"They aren't playing-"

"So we'll go to the one in Marseille."

Her heart thumped. "France?"

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth with a smile. "Yes. Will you go with me?"

 _Yes. Yes._ "Yes," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him one more time.

Her two month rule, she decided then, would become her two date rule.

* * *

The symphony hall in Marseille was not quite as grand, but the music had been poignant and Draco's kisses had been titillating. He broke away from her lips after a long while had passed and whispered against her ear, "Do you have plans tomorrow morning?"

She whispered, "no," not trusting her voice.

He tickled her neckline with his fingertips, his lips hovering against her ear. "Stay with me tonight. Here in France."

A shaky exhale, and then, "I assume you have a place in mind?" And _activities_.

He smiled against her neck. "I do."

* * *

Of course Draco Malfoy had his own flat in Paris.

"My parents bought it for me when they moved to France. They hoped I might join them, and I nearly considered it," he said as he turned the brass doorknob. "But my home is in England, and... being in a different country than my parents has its benefits."

From all she had gathered, Lucius and Narcissa were indeed the meddling type.

"It's beautiful," she said as she crossed the threshold, heels clicking on the finely polished wood floors. Ornate lanterns had flickered to life when the door opened, and strategically placed mirrors reflected the light in a way that gave the room both depth and warmth.

_Romantic._

She heard the door click shut and he stopped behind her, reaching around to her front collar to unfasten her cloak. He slid it down her shoulders purposefully.

"Tea? Wine?" He said, hanging her cloak beside his own near the door.

"Wine sounds nice." To calm her suddenly twitchy nerves. Her cloak resting beside his was an odd thing to react to, but it _meant_ something. Their cloaks would remain there together until sometime the next day. Because she had agreed to spend the night. The whole night. Presumably in a bed, with Malfoy. _Naked_.

Good god, she was actually doing this reckless thing, living out this wild fantasy.

"Make yourself at home." His hand brushed her shoulder, and then he walked through a door to their left.

Though it was exciting to be alone with him, as she walked further into his flat all she could think was that _she barely knew him at all._ Thirteen years ago, when she first met him she would have said she knew absolutely all she wanted to know about him, and would be happy to never ever see his pointy face again.

But now? He was a great mystery; a beautiful man with a complicated past and a life that she knew very little about. A love of music, a Paris flat, _muggle books_. A wall full of them.

She didn't really know his stance on muggles, hadn't wanted to bring up the delicate topic that she feared would ruin their new friendship or whatever this was, but she was so very curious. Did he still hold any of those old prejudices? Was he past them?

"Muggles are superior to us in many ways, aren't they?" He said as though reading her mind. Her stomach felt funny when he said the word muggle, and she almost wished he hadn't. He walked toward her with two glasses of deep red liquid and smiled as she tucked a book back into the shelf. "Their constant suffering adds poignancy to their literature, their music. All the arts really."

"Yes," she replied, taking the proffered glass. She still didn't feel any better about the topic. "They work harder for many things than we do. They take less for granted." She took a sip. "You've read their books, listened to their music?"

He nodded. "I've watched their films too, if you can believe it."

"I'm not sure I can," she replied honestly, trying and failing to imagine Draco Malfoy going to the cinema or watching television. He seemed so far removed from her muggle world.

She kept waiting for him to say something that would make her want to storm out. Slap him.

"It's a Wonderful Life. I saw it my first Christmas after Hogwarts." After the war, he said without saying as he made himself comfortable on the sofa. "I was stuck in a muggle hotel, traveling abroad... trying to figure out how to turn off the damned telly. I gave up and," he lifted his hand, "that's what was on."

Sitting beside him and curling up her knees sideways, she asked, "Did you like it?"

Her dress was short, knees exposed. He glanced downward for a second.

"Yes. Very much." He rested his arm on the back of the sofa. "I had never seen anything quite like it. Love. Desperation. Hope. It was... insightful."

She smiled at him affectionately. It was her favorite Christmas film.

He cleared his throat. "I have to say, the muggle hotels I've stayed in since have had much less... _virtuous_ television offerings."

She laughed as he sipped his wine. "Well I'm certainly glad your first film was a wholesome Christmas story. I can't imagine what sort of first impression their _other_ programming might have left."

He raised his brows, grin widening for a second. "A perfectly fine one, if I'm being honest."

That boyish look he gave her left her skin tingly. Those lovely light eyes, the curve of his lips. She smiled and said, "Aah, so you _are_ the average male underneath that gentlemanly persona."

"Not average," he replied mischievously, leaning in closer. _Above average then._ "Not a perfect gentleman."

"Certainly a confident one."

He set his wine glass on the table. "A quality I suspect you like."

Her heart fluttered in her chest. "I do."

The kiss that came next was every bit as sweetly sensual as those he had given her before, but there in the privacy of his flat, his hands were bolder in their exploration, starting with her bare knee, which he caressed with precision. It was like he knew exactly which way to move his fingers to elicit the desired response, and the skin there was far more sensitive than she remembered.

When his hand moved beneath her skirt against her bare thigh, she felt her heart begin to hammer against her rib cage. She had only been with one man, and Draco was... _unfamiliar_. He moved differently. Everything he did, from the swipe of his tongue against her neck to the curl of his hand around her bare hip, he did with such confidence and smooth fluidity that she felt breathless... clumsy in comparison.

She wasn't certain she liked that dynamic, but couldn't stop her hands from trembling as they trailed over his firm chest. He was kissing a spot on her neck that felt so blissful she almost moaned. God he was good at that, and his thumb gliding over the inside of her hip felt so erotic she thought she might die of suspense.

It was the thump of his heartbeat that finally quelled her nervousness. That flurry of movement beneath his ribs reminded her that he was not just _affecting_ but also _affected_. His body was responding to her presence; her tongue, her skin, her fingertips, her breath.

As he licked her pulse point, she forced her eyes open and rooted herself in the present, observing the flicker of the lanterns, the weave of the upholstery, the broadness of his shoulders. She didn't want to be a clumsy inexperienced fool with him.

Soothed by facts, she recited all the ways arousal affected a man physically.

Engorging.

Tightening.

Heart rate.

Respiration.

Blood pressure.

Muscle tension.

He was human, _not a sex god._

Confidence regained, she sat up on her knees, flung her leg across his lap and straddled him, hovering inches above his thighs. She looked down at him, and his eyes were oddly expressive. Pupils dilated, lips parted. He desired her deeply and made no attempt to hide it. She imagined then as she looked down at at his lovely lips, what he might look like on the verge of his climax. Would he be so expressive? Oh she hoped he would, wanting very much to see him exposed that way and share in his pleasure.

Her fingers threaded in his hair, and she kissed him, loving the way he pulled her body against his chest and then guided her slowly down into his lap. Her center moved down against his abdomen.

Incredible friction.

Her dress rode up, up, and then she connected with his upper thighs and felt his hardened length, just an inch to the left of where she needed it most. His breath, warm puffs of air against her cheek, was ragged and growing desperate as his hands swept over her back, her sides, her hips. He unzipped her dress and kissed a path down her neck, and when she rocked forward and then backward, his hips lifted off the sofa an inch with an audible breath.

God, it felt good.

He swept her dress up over her head, tortuously slow, and she lifted her arms to allow it, feeling oddly childish as her hair lifted into the fabric and then fell against her back.

Fleeting physical beauty.

She possessed the traits most men would consider desirable, but she had not always and would not always. Round breasts and hips; a trim waist; soft golden skin. She unfastened his robes as his eyes roamed her body, and he whispered, "Fuck," as his hand swept lightly over her bra. No, no enhancement charms required. His gaze followed his fingers down to the dip of her waist, around the front hem of her knickers and then lingered just below her navel as if transfixed. Breathing deeply he met her eyes. "You're a beautiful woman."

Once his robes were shrugged off in a pile of fabric behind him, chest still covered by a black shirt, she pressed her lips to his again. What an excellent kisser he was, to be able to mimic so perfectly the act of making love with just his lips and tongue.

He reached back over his neck and gathered the fabric of his black undershirt, then pulled it over his head and discarded it.

She liked the way his hair ruffled, the way his lean muscles felt rippling beneath her fingertips. She looked down at his body, running her hands across his firm abdomen. His bicep felt nice under her palm. "You're a handsome man."

He smiled and pulled her close, so their skin was pressed deliciously together. Her hand swept over his neck, his bare shoulders.

The click of her bra was felt and not heard. As he nudged the straps down her arms, his lips parted below her ear and licked, and then her breasts were liberated. The stiff peaks were sensitive, and when he grazed his thumbs over them she gasped into his hair, wanting him to know she liked it, wanted more of it.

He didn't disappoint, mouth quickly replacing his thumb. A soft whimper escaped her throat as he began sucking and flicking at each breast while her hands held him appreciatively in place.

She rocked against him once more, and he made a noise deep in his throat that spoke of carnal need, a desire to consummate.

It felt incredible, him at her bosom, and he didn't seem to tire of it at all, laving her with kisses for what she assumed were several minutes, until she was so slick with desire that she was almost panting. He kneaded her arse with both hands, and though she did not remember ever fully enjoying that feeling, he was so close to her center that the indirect stimulation made her insides quiver.

Apparently there was a right way to rub an arse, and he had unlocked the mystery.

His fingers dipped below the fabric of her underwear and inward, acknowledging with a deep breath that she was unquestionably aroused. Simultaneously, he slipped a digit into her core and bit down on her nipple.

It sent a shockwave through her that was so fantastic she moaned and rolled her hips against his hand.

When he stopped to look up at her, his eyes were dark and hungry like she had never seen them. The time for teasing was over. He held her close and lifted her until he was standing with her legs wrapped around his middle.

She didn't worry that he would drop her; he was too graceful for such things and she knew it. As he stepped toward the hall with his face in her neck she knew her confidence was well placed, but he did wisely stop and lean her against the wall for a kiss and a grind of his hips, and reposition her higher before he continued to the bedroom.

Lights flickered on as they stepped through and she looked around to see dark colors, ornate wood shelves and a large bed that begged to be laid upon. He did lay her upon it; her head fell upon the pillow at an angle, and it was every bit as comfortable as she imagined it would be. Not the cold chill of her lonely bed. He climbed atop her and she was enveloped in his warm body heat, his hardened muscles and soft skin, his gentle and coaxing lips. Her hands moved to his trousers and she unfastened them with her once again trembling fingers.

He pulled them down right along with his boxers and kicked them off while he refocused his lovely mouth on the bottom side of her breasts. Next, her rib cage. Then her navel. He looked up at her as he hooked his fingers into her knickers and pulled them down slowly over her hips. But his eyes couldn't stay affixed to hers with that tempting sight before him, the last remaining fabric being tugged down her thighs and over her knees. His moment of distraction was welcome as it gave her an unrestricted view of him, fully naked, pale and sexy, with a perfect pink prick jutting out. Her body sang like a cello at the sight and she looked up at the ceiling trying hard not to appear too overjoyed, though she was...thoroughly, and especially when his mouth surprised her with a kiss at her very core.

"Ah!" she cried with a jolt, looking down at his buried face, his eyes fixed upon hers. How had he landed there without her notice? Oh, yes, she had been marveling about his endowments. She felt him smile against her folds like he knew what she had been thinking, and then he set about licking her with an almost firm tongue that softened and curled at precisely the right moment. Soft cries of appreciation came forth from her chest, like her lungs and her heart and her core were in sync and working together to mortify her with a voice that was too high pitched, too much like a girly sob and not enough like the moan of an adult woman possessing prowess and self-restraint. He feasted on her sounds, at least as much as her throbbing clit, listening, she knew, for the signs of what she enjoyed.

Was it the flicking or the circling, or was it the swirling just an inch inside of her? The rub of his fingers just above her nub? _All of them_ , her body replied. Everything was drowned in her pleasure. The whole world was swallowed by it until there was nothing left, except perhaps a gnawing urge to reciprocate, and bring him with her to this lovely edge.

Her thighs quaked delightfully over his shoulders and she fought the impulse to arch her hips, not wanting to disrupt his perfect rhythm. Lord he was good at this. Surely very well practiced, but at that moment she was nothing less than grateful for his experience because he was pure excellence. No training required.

And then he was hovering above her, his perfect cock aligned with her entrance, and he kissed her softly as he applied pressure. He gasped against her lips, and his hand tightened around her shoulder as her walls gave, and gave, and gave around him until he was fully submerged, his hips flush against her inner thighs.

His hand cupped her face and he deepened the kiss for a wonderful second before he broke away and gazed down at her, watching her open mouthed expression as he pulled out and pressed in, over and over. She writhed beneath him, fingers trailing down his sides and back up to his shoulders, savoring every inch of his skin.

The way he moved his hips reminded her of an illicit dance, not merely a direct thrust and retreat, but a rocking of his hips that left her feeling so blissfully full of him she wanted to weep. She clasped his hand which rested just above her shoulder and he welcomed it, threading his fingers between hers just as he had on their first date.

After a few blissful minutes of kissing and arching and clasping hands it occurred to her, this wasn't just sex, it felt a great deal more like _lovemaking_. What a completely unexpected and intimate thing to be sharing with Draco Malfoy, her old childhood nemesis. Had she expected a brisk and lewd encounter, a _fuck_ , when she arrived at his flat that evening? Absolutely. Perhaps several. But this was not that, and if she had to guess right then she would have said that this one session of lovemaking could last well into the night, because he clearly knew how to pace himself, how to enjoy a woman slowly and fully, how to savour the experience, how to remain fully immersed within the present moment. He wasn't thrusting blindly toward his ending, though he certainly did seem interested in bringing her to new heights, with his fingers rubbing just right until she was shuddering and gasping.

Oh god everything began clenching and seizing and spasming as he held her close and rocked, but then he did the damnedest thing, and he stilled entirely, kissing her neck and holding her hips in place as her body slowly relaxed. When the tension subsided, he kissed away her confusion, and then put his hand between them and rocked his hips, beginning again.

She wondered if he was simply proving he could, or if he wanted to see her beg (which she very nearly had done), or if he had some other motive for doing such a torturous thing. When he felt her tensing and quivering around him that second time, his fingers and hips persisted, albeit slowing just before she peaked, drawing it out as she whimpered and arched below him.

"Oh my god," she whispered right then, face flushed, each breath accompanied by something akin to a squeak. She gasped quietly at that crescendo, and holding tight to his shoulders, curling inward on herself, she whispered his name.

And then she toppled over a steep cliff and into euphoria, limbs trembling and core sizzling as he fucked her slowly through it. When her eyes fluttered open she realized he was watching her, the first of many times, observing her with his beautiful slow and shaky hips, his muscles clenching and cheeks flushing. He leaned down and whispered against her ear, "God you are _sexy_."

He lifted up her leg and brought it across him, rolling her onto her side while he was still sheathed within her. He was deeper at this angle, pressing hard against a spot inside of her that was as painful as it was pleasurable.

" _Oh_ ," she gasped, holding tightly to the edge of the pillow. The resounding moan against her ribcage was confirmation he loved this position. She sucked in a tight breath with every nudge of his hips, her entire body tightening as she prepared herself for the next deep thrust.

It was too much, but she could take it for him. She wanted to be an exceptional lover, as he was for her, and she was willing to sacrifice comfort for a few minutes. If he wanted this. If he liked this.

He shoved his hand into the pillow and propped himself up, looking into her eyes just before he kissed her. And each thrust thereafter was a little gentler, the pressure subsiding just enough that another, more subtle and exquisite pressure began to build. With his mouth covering her nipple and his fingers working delicious magic at her clit, his cock driving into her at a quickened pace, she clamped her thighs around his wrist and moved her hips earnestly. Before she was fully aware of what was coming she spasmed around him and jolted with a cry, a fast and intense orgasm that left her inner walls fluttering as he moved inside of her. He pulled back her hair and kissed her jaw, soothing strokes of his hand on her arm warming her skin and melting her heart.

She knew what she wanted next.

She sat up, gently extricating her limbs from his and she pushed his shoulder so he was flat on his back. As he realized her intention he licked his lips and leaned forward to capture the stiff peak of her breast in his mouth. She settled above him and slowly impaled herself, enjoying the way he gasped and grabbed her hips. His eyes glazed over as he leaned back into the pillow and watched her move. The rise and fall of his chest captivated her as she moved her hips back and forth, and she liked the way his fingers ran through his hair and then across his jaw, savored the contrast between his white hand and pinkened cheeks. He wasn't as comfortable being out of control, wasn't as confident when _he_ was the one being brought to the edge, _watched_. She didn't want to be the reason for his discomfort, she wanted only pleasure for him, so she leaned forward and kissed him to distraction, letting him arch up into her at his own pace. _Faster. Oh... God..._ Patterns tingled on her thighs where he had traced them with his fingertips, but he stopped abruptly and held her hips so she couldn't move.

"God. You feel fucking amazing," he pressed his head into her shoulder. It was a beautiful thing, seeing him on the verge, heart pounding, stomach muscles aquiver.

He sat up swiftly and flipped her onto her back, driving into her faster and harder than he had before, sucking her neck and rubbing a spot above her center that felt incredible.

She wanted to tell him she couldn't come again but she didn't have the words, and when the words were finally there on the tip of her tongue they were no longer true.

"Oh god, right there..." she whispered writhing under him and touching every bit of his skin that she could. That spot on his ribs that he liked, the biceps that kept making themselves known beside her, the hair that fell in his face as he licked her breasts. She wanted to make it about him, wanted to be focused on him but it felt so good. So good.

His breath was coming quick, brows furrowed. His lips brushed over hers, fiery, passionate. Their hands clasped, fingers threading again as they gave themselves over to one another and to their desire for a shared peak. Their bodies were clapping, trembling, his self control impaired as he finally gave in and stopped trying to impress her with his prowess. And this, this reckless thrusting, moaning, flushing was the sexiest sight she had ever seen. Each sound he made resonated in her core, and as a choked sob escaped her lips, tension bursting below her navel, he gasped and seized. His fingers squeezed around her hand and he shuddered all around her, wrapping her up in the intensity of their combined pleasure.

He continued moving for as long as his body would allow, and as he finally sank down onto her, she felt their labored breathing, their fluttering hearts, the tremor of muscles. She couldn't tell anymore which were his or hers, they were so fully entwined.

Rather than rolling off of her, he rolled them over completely so she was lying on top of him. Scooting down so her head was on his chest, she listened to the swishing sound of his heart. He swept her hair off her face and played with her curls until her drowsy eyes closed into a restful, sated slumber.


	3. Dress the Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was backstory only, and this chapter is revisiting Draco and Hermione's established relationship, where Draco is trying to keep Hermione from discovering the things he's kept hidden.

She watched Pansy from across the dress shop. If Draco were here, he would want her to leave immediately and not speak to his old friend. His old _girlfriend_. But why?

A rogue thought struck her. Perhaps he was cheating.

No. She thought of their life together and could hardly believe the idea.

More likely, he was hiding many, many secrets, and Pansy knew some of them. Hermione had already unearthed a few, and where there were a few there could be a few hundred.

"Pansy," she said rounding the dress rack with a forced smile. The girl looked surprised for a second and then smiled back.

"Granger, it's good to see you again."

Hermione wanted to wipe that cool facade right off of her face, along with her enhancement charms. No ones lips were that perfect. "Good to see you too. Are you shopping for the gala?"

"Yes." She lifted a black dress to her front. "I'm thinking black. Be honest. Is this too slutty?"

Hermione was surprised that the girl thought anything was too slutty. "Provocative," she replied, "but in a good way. I like it."

And she did. It was a beautiful dress, and though she wasn't brave enough to wear something that showed that much cleavage she did like how it looked on others. Pansy grinned, showing off her pearly white teeth.

:::

Shopping along side Pansy was an exercise in self-restraint. Their tastes were much different, and nearly all the dresses she suggested made Hermione want to cringe.

"Try it on," Pansy said, holding up a gown to Hermione's chest. "Just try it, Granger."

"Fine."

When she came out of the dressing room a few minutes later, Pansy whistled. Hermione wasn't sure why it made her blush. Maybe it was the way Pansy's plump lips made a small tight circle to whistle through. "Wear it to the gala. Every man there will wish they were going home with you." And then with a devilish smile, "it will drive Draco insane."

Yes, she could imagine his possessive arm around her, warning anyone in the vicinity to steer clear.

"Why would I want to drive him insane?"

"Because it's fun. That look he gets when he's jealous..." she licked her canine. "Hot."

She was right. It was.

"And maybe he'll punish you after." She said with a wink.

Hermione bristled internally, and then said, "I think I'll stick with the blue one."

"Come on, don't you like feeling sexy?"

Hermione turned to the mirror again. Yes, it was flattering in all the right places. She did feel sexy in it. And awkward.

"I don't want to be objectified by my colleagues."

"You'd rather they call you a prude? Uptight know it all?" Pansy asked. It had been awhile since she'd been called any of those names, but she supposed it was because her old classmates were all grown up and too mature to spout that kind of insult aloud. Well, _most_ of them anyway.

"I'd prefer that the people I work with don't think of sex at all when they look at me. I want them to take me seriously."

Pansy laughed and approached her. "Everyone thinks of sex. All the time. When a man looks at a woman, I can guarantee within the first thirty seconds they've made a decision on whether she is fuckable. And you can fall in two camps, three perhaps for some women. Yes, no, or _maybe if I'm hard up_." The woman in front of her was a different type of cynic, and Hermione wondered what had happened to make her think this way of people. "Now... of those three, who is more likely to get a promotion?"

"The one who _earned_ it. Honestly Pansy."

"No, the _fuckable_ one who earned it. Now I'm not telling you to dress like a whore to the office, but to a social event? Make yourself... unforgettable."

Hermione hated to think she had a point, but being memorable did have it's advantages.

"I'll add a little incentive. If you wear that, I'll let you choose my dress for me." Hermione looked back at the witch, surprised at the offer.

"Whatever I pick?"

"Within reason. That purple number over there?" She looked at her pointedly. "I'd rather die."

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror again, imagining what it would be like to wear it to such an event. It certainly would draw attention, though not the kind she usually sought. "Alright. Offer accepted."

:::

Having a chance to dress Pansy felt just a bit like playing barbies, which she had never admitted to anyone in the wizarding world that she had done as a child. Not that they would know what a Barbie was. She settled on three dresses that she knew Pansy wouldn't choose for herself. They were beautiful, light colors that looked elegant, angelic compared to her usual black.

Pansy wrinkled her nose, but she took them to the dressing room and tried them on all the same.

"I look like a virgin," Pansy said with a raised brow as she looked at herself in the long mirror.

Hermione wondered what exactly a virgin _looked_ like. Definitely not Pansy. In any dress.

"It's subtle. Classy."

"Do I come off as a subtle woman to you?"

"No," Hermione replied, "and that's what makes the contrast so lovely." And it was quite lovely to see her in such a muted color like champagne.

"Try the long one."

"My legs are one of my favorite assets."

"It has a slit. Try it," Hermione bit out.

"Fine."

She was in the dressing room for two minutes before she summoned Hermione.

"I need help."

Hermione honestly doubted that. She could probably use her wand to fasten the tiny buttons.

She peeked her head into the dressing room all the same. Pansy had her dress halfway on, a hand over her chest holding the silk garment in place. Her eyes were drawn to Pansy's bare shoulders and lacy black bra strap.

Contrast.

"Button me up?" Pansy said with an innocent look that reminded her a little of Draco's, "who, me?" expression. It must be a Slytherin thing. The girl wanted to show off her assets, whether to fish for compliments or make Hermione jealous, she wasn't sure. It had neither effect, but a third that made her feel uncomfortable in a way that she only ever was around Pansy.

She stepped into the dressing room and shut the curtain tight behind her, then grabbed either side of Pansy's unfastened dress. It was a bit more complex than the average gown, she admitted to herself reluctantly. She pulled the straps up over her petite shoulders, _like she couldn't have done that herself_ , and started with the bottom button.

"It's too bad Draco keeps you locked away." _Like a dirty secret._ "I think we could be friends."

Friends. With Pansy. The fact that she was in a dressing room with the girl was shocking enough, so she supposed it wasn't out of the question that they could get there eventually.

"He doesn't keep me locked away." Except from his Slytherin classmates. And his parents. "He's just... private."

"He likes his secrets, doesn't he."

"Which secrets are _you_ referring to?" Hermione said, trying to appear playful and not nosy as she fastened the final button. Pansy didn't need to know how many secrets she and Draco kept.

"If I told you," Pansy turned to her, "they wouldn't be secrets anymore. I'm sure you know some I don't, I know some you don't." She smiled and looked at herself in the mirror. "Why together, we might actually have a complete picture."

Perhaps Pansy was befriending her for the same reason she was befriending Pansy. "Ahh, so that's why he keeps us apart."

"That, and other reasons."

Hermione raised a brow.

Pansy had a wicked gleam in her eye. "He doesn't want us corrupting his perfect little angel." She stepped forward, too close for Hermione's comfort, and Pansy's fingertips grazed her jawline. "Saint Hermione," she whispered. She felt a tingle where Pansy's fingers had been. She wasn't wearing perfume this time, so the effect wasn't magical.

"I'm not a saint," she replied, questioning why being a saint was an insult at all. Ah, yes. It made the _immoral_ folks uncomfortable. Judged. Was that why Draco kept so many secrets from her?

"I bet you are. And I bet he just loves that about you. I always was a little too extreme for his taste." She looked Hermione up and down. "I admit your sweet and innocent demeanor has its appeal, but I do hope you spice it up on occasion. He has a darker side that requires...quenching."

Hermione did her best to hide her embarrassment. She didn't like that Pansy knew or _thought she knew_ Draco's intimate desires. He would tell her if he wanted more, wouldn't he? He wasn't a wallflower in the bedroom. But he was very attentive to her in an almost protective way, and it had left her wondering more than once if he put her needs ahead of his own.

Pansy smiled, with teeth, having planted the seed of doubt that she intended, and then turned to admire herself again, this time thrusting our a leg to test how much skin was exposed. "Perhaps our little dress trade will work for us both. I get to be saintly for an evening and _you_ get to be the bad girl."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "I'm beginning to think you _are_ trying to corrupt me."

"We all have our hobbies." And then, "Undress me."

"Pansy-"

The innocent look again. "I need your help."

"I'm not a handmaiden."

"What's the matter, afraid you'll enjoy it? Oh my, perhaps you're a deviant after all," she said over her shoulder.

Hermione scoffed, then unfastened the first three buttons swiftly, a flip in her stomach telling her that this was now bordering inappropriate.

" _Slower_."

Hermione pursed her lips, but complied. "So how is Theo?" She said as casually as she could. Clearly Pansy needed a reminder that she was a married woman. Flirting was still flirting, even if it was with another woman.

"He's incredible," Pansy tilted her chin down and to the side, exposing her neckline. Hermione had a feeling Pansy wasn't referring to his current wellbeing.

"He has a big... career change coming up. I don't like it much, long hours and all, but...whatever makes him happy."

"Good of you," Hermione said as she took the last button out of its loop. She stepped back thinking it was a good idea to put distance between her and her would be corruptor. "All done. I think you can take it from here."

"I'd prefer that you do it though," Pansy said with a half smile.

Hermione rolled her eyes. This was beginning to feel like a game of chicken, and she wasn't sure why she kept taking the bait, but a tickle at the end of her spine encouraged her to make the most of this probably once in a lifetime opportunity.

Anything worth doing, Hermione thought to herself, was worth doing well. Touching her fingertips lightly to the bottom of Pansy's parted dress, and noting the black lace knickers that matched her bra, she dragged her nails upward under the edge of the fabric, parting it slowly.

"I do love your nails," Pansy said in a whisper, head dropping forward. Hermione lingered at the center of her back, tracing the edge of the black lace, memorizing the feel of her soft skin.

When Hermione reached her shoulders, they made eye contact in the mirror. Suddenly Pansy didn't look so bold. Her bluff had been called, smile nearly gone and lips parted, eyes flickering with what she thought might actually be real desire as Hermione pushed the fabric down her arms. It caught on the swell of her hips, and Hermione hooked her thumbs under the fabric and watched with flushed cheeks as the gown dropped to the floor in a heap.

In the mirror, she saw what could only be described as the perfect female body. Hermione had seen her fair share of naked women, living in a dorm with three other girls, but none of them quite held a candle to the woman in from of her. The swell of her breasts, the soft round curve of her hips, lacy black and very much see through undergarments... Hermione felt a gnawing urge to touch her again, if only for a second. Pansy swayed backward and Hermione, summoning up the very last of her bravery, leaned in close to her ear.

"As I said, I'm not a saint, Pansy."

The gooseflesh on Pansy's back told her that she had proven her point, and would do well to make a swift exit.

"Consider it retracted."

Hermione plucked the silk champagne gown from its hook on the wall, trying to seem unaffected. "Wear this one." _Virginal becomes you._

Pansy took the dress from her outstretched hand, her dark eyes lingering on Hermione's. She has a feeling if she didn't leave right that instant Pansy would cross yet another boundary, and it would be disastrous.

"I've got to go. I-I'll see you at the gala next weekend."

Pansy grinned as Hermione stepped out of the curtain, and she called out after her, "Wear the dress!"

Hermione made a beeline for the register, hoping that she might escape without seeing Pansy again. She bought the black dress that had been chosen for her, and the blue one just in case she chickened out.

From the window, she watched Pansy set the champagne gown on the counter, a small smile tugging at her lips.

—

The Ministry's annual gala would have been boring, pretentious, and the very last place she wanted to be, but that particular Saturday evening seemed different than other events she had attended. The way Draco had looked at her at the beginning of the night, odd the tilt to his head, the raised brow as he eyed her cleavage, the way his lips parted as he trailed a single finger down the vee and back up the other side.

"Is it okay?"

"It's stunning."

The a carnal hunger in his kiss reaffirmed his appreciation. She thought for a moment they might not make it to the gala at all.

And the way Harry had looked at her was particularly surprising. It was like he had forgotten she was female entirely until that night.

"Harry her eyes are up there," Ginny laughed, nudging Harry in the rib.

"I didn't... I was NOT-" Harry said defending himself.

"You look incredible Hermione," Ginny said cutting him off.

"I feel self-conscious," she confided to the witch quietly when no one else was listening.

"You shouldn't. All the important bits are covered. Look at Padma, Jessica," she nodded to them in the crowd. "They're both revealing more than you and they look lovely, don't they?"

Hermione nodded and took a breath. And then took a champagne flute from a nearby tray.

She avoided the dance floor when she could, but she kept peering back at it, one couple in particular drawing her attention.

Pansy and Theo moved gracefully together, light and indiscreet caresses giving her the impression that they would much rather be behind closed doors indulging in a much different activity. Against her own will, Hermione pictured the beautiful couple indulging themselves.

"For fucks sake, Granger. Stop courting disaster."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He sat forward a little. "You keep looking at them."

"Her dress," Hermione said with a smile, "It looks nice on her doesn't it?"

Draco shifted in his chair and glanced at the couple. "Why are you so interested in what she's wearing?"

It would have been wise of her to tell Draco about her encounter with Pansy directly after it happened, so she wouldn't have to do it now.

"I helped her choose it."

She resisted the urge to fidget under his glare, instead taking a sip of champagne and gauging his reaction over the edge of her flute.

"You went dress shopping together." His jaw moved back and forth.

"Yes."

His nostrils flared slightly as he looked down at her chest and back up. "That explains a lot."

"I thought you liked it." She knew he did, in fact.

He leaned forward. "I'd like it better if you were wearing it to bed."

She was surprised by his forwardness, the treble in his voice put goosebumps on her skin. He never made lewd remarks to her.

Always so respectful.

The sudden ping in her lower abdomen made her think that just once in awhile, it might be fun to set manners aside.

Her hand covered his, tracing a circle over his wrist.

"But you do. Like it."

His mouth opened and closed, a dark look in his eye. What had gotten into her? It was like wearing a sexy dress made her want to act the part. He reached down discreetly and touched the inside of her knee, tracing a small pattern that he knew would affect her a very _specific_ way.

"Draco," Theo's voice broke through their confusing sexual tension and they both looked up at the beautiful couple that Draco had been trying to dodge. Pansy eyed her dress with a satisfied smile.

They both stood and exchanged pleasantries, and though they had done the same with twenty or more people that evening, this felt markedly different.

For one, Pansy had latched onto her hand and held onto it, as though they were best girlfriends. She wondered if it was to irritate Draco or if it was an extension of their exchange at the dress shop.

"Can you return an owl on occasion?" Theo teased as they pulled up chairs and sat down for a drink together. "I'm starting to think you're avoiding me." The man had a sincere and infectious smile. Even Draco seemed to soften at the sight of it.

"I've been busy," Draco replied effortlessly.

"Too busy for your oldest friends?" Pansy remarked. "Granger seems agreeable enough to our company." She ran a thumb across the back of Hermione's hand, catching Draco's attention and his eyes held a warning that made Hermione want very much want to sink into the ground. A topic change seemed like the best possible move.

"Tell us about your new position Theo." Hermione kindly extracted her hand from Pansy's under the pretense of needing a drink of champagne. "I hear you're back at the DMLE."

"Yes, putting in my required three years as an auror before they'll consider me for special services." And then, "I've been partnered with Weasley."

Hermione's brows shot up in surprise. Ron hadn't mentioned it. Draco chuckled inauthentically and looked toward the red head across the room that he had also been avoiding. "And how is that working out for you?"

"Not as bad as I thought. He's a funny guy. A bit hot headed, but you know all about that," Theo said to them both in good humor.

"Yes," Hermione sighed, "he needs a level head around to balance him out. Is it a permanent assignment?"

"Yes, sounds like it. I'm surprised he hasn't told you." Then he added, "He talks about you quite a lot."

Noting Draco's discomfort and feeling oddly happy about it, she replied, "We don't speak as often as we used to."

"Draco's had her stashed away from everyone," Pansy interjected, and then added with a whisper, "In the bedroom most likely." She earned a round of awkward chuckles and a glare from Hermione. "Well it won't work, love. Everyone knows what a catch she is now. You really must bring her around and let us entertain her."

"If you'd like to entertain someone, sounds like Weasley is free these days," Draco said, his old familiar wicked smirk firmly in place. Perhaps the Slytherins brought out the worst in him.

"They see each other plenty enough already," Pansy replied.

Theo sat back and offered, "Ten hours a day, four days a week."

"That is a lot of time to spend with each other. What do you do to pass the time between assignments?" Hermione inquired. It was an innocent question, really.

"Very good question," Pansy said with a wicked smile at her husband.

"We practice dueling usually," Theo said with a knowing look at his wife.

"Oooh, a _wand_ fight," Pansy said, fanning herself. Hermione couldn't contain her giggle. It must have been the champagne.

" _Really_ you two," Theo said with a crooked smile, then turning to Draco, who looked increasingly irritated. "We need to keep them far apart."

Draco raised his glass. "You see how well that is working out for me."

A photographer came by at that opportune moment, and they shuffled around and put on their best smiles. She really hoped not to land in the Prophet in such a low cut dress. She could only imagine what Molly would think.

After the photographer left, Theo asked her to dance.

Hermione smiled kindly and looked to Pansy who didn't seem to mind one bit, but Draco barely bothered to disguise his irritation.

Smiling mischievously, Theo took her hand in his own. "It's just a dance, Draco. I'm not going to run away with her."

—

Theodore Nott was an excellent dancer, she realized after twenty seconds in his arms.

"He really doesn't want us around you."

"Oh? I hadn't noticed," she said with a smile, studying him up close for the first time she could recall. He was taller than Draco, thinner, with a pretty face and lovely hazel eyes. His lips were full (delightfully so) and his smile was endearing. He was handsome.

He chuckled in response. "I've never seen him so possessive of a woman."

She wondered what that meant, but dared not to ask. "You've known each other a long while."

"Since we were children, yes."

"I didn't see you together often at Hogwarts."

"I didn't like his choice in company, or his attitude if I'm honest. But we shared a room for seven years... you learn a lot about a person at that proximity. He was different behind closed doors but I suppose you know that now."

A pensive moment passed before she replied, "He's not who I thought he was."

"And you...are not quite who any of us thought either. I admit I'm curious about you. My best mate, my partner, hell..." he smiled and tilted his head, "even my wife fancies you."

She felt the heat rise up her chest to her face. "I doubt that."

"After your little dressing room rendezvous? I'm surprised there's any question," he said with a quirk of his brow.

"It wasn't a rendezvous," she replied, feeling frazzled and caught off guard. He chuckled again and she found that she rather liked the sound, even if it was the cause for her suddenly flushed cheeks.

"Well, whatever you choose to call it," his head tilted down toward her slightly, "she seemed to have enjoyed it very much. And I apologize if she overstepped in any way. She tends to do that on occasion."

Overstepping was an understatement, Hermione thought. "It doesn't bother you?"

"That you undressed my wife?" His teeth were perfectly straight and white. She needed to stop looking at his mouth. "Not at all."

She swallowed, not really wanting to think about the conversation that Pansy and Theo must have had about her. "I was going to say, that she oversteps."

"That all depends on the boundary she's crossing," he said with a grin. "I'm very secure in our relationship, so...no, you'll find there is very little she does that will bother me personally." He glanced at Pansy and Draco at the table prompting her to do the same. As was often true, they were a little too close for comfort. "Does it bother you?"

"I haven't decided yet. I suppose I'm still trying to figure her out. And you as well."

"You could take us up on one of those dinner invitations we keep sending. We can all get to know each other." He quirked his head. "I'm curious why you haven't."

She was instantly irritated at Draco. Clearly he had intercepted the dinner invitations because she had no knowledge of them. She masked her frustration with a smile, not wanting Theo or anyone else to know how many secrets Draco kept from her.

The last time they had discussed having dinner with Pansy and Theo, Draco hadn't reacted well, and had suggested there was an ulterior motive to the invitation. There usually was with Slytherins. Curiosity returned in full force as she recalled their conversation.

"Funny. Draco said it wasn't a dinner invitation at all," she replied, fully expecting him to laugh and dismiss it as absurd. Instead his composure faltered. He flushed and exhaled through his full lips. She had definitely touched a nerve.

"Did he now."

"I'm sorry," she said. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything." She thought her lying skills might have improved a bit since she started dating Draco.

"Don't be." His hand was warm in hers. She was starting to feel clammy palmed and a little embarrassed by it. "I'm sure that is Pansy's doing as well, not that I-." And then avoiding her eyes, "Is that why he's been avoiding us then? Or is it you that's avoiding us after all?"

She was silent. Should she be avoiding them? "Draco mostly. I'm-I'm..." she lost her words.

"Offended?"

Perhaps she would be if she knew what the hell was going on. "Offended is not the word I would choose."

His eyes darted back to hers with intrigue. "Flattered?" The gears clicked in her head and her stomach did a somersault. _Holy hell._ When she didn't respond he smiled. "Interested?"

For the first time since they began their dance, her steps faltered. Suddenly aware of their proximity, the weight of his hand on her hip, she gulped. He steadied them both and gave her another crooked and disarming smile.

"Either way, the dinner invitation stands alone. _Dessert_ is optional."

Composure regained, she asked him, "Do you have a lot of _guests_ , Theo?"

"None at all. That invitation is for you and Draco only." His fingers splayed across her back. "I do hope you'll consider it."

—

"Nott is a decent bloke." Ron said. "I didn't think I'd like him but we have a bit in common."

_Yes, you'd both fancy a round in the bedroom with me_ , Hermione thought to herself as she took a drink of champagne, both flattered and dismayed at being the object of such desire. It was easy to remember a time when she was generally considered unattractive, with her bushy hair and big teeth, and back then could not have imagined what it would be like to be looked at the way she had been that night. She looked down at her dress, imagining what people saw when they looked at her now.

Would they still think she was attractive if she gained fifty pounds and regrew her teeth? She thought not. People were shallow and fickle.

Draco seemed tense as he watched her converse with Ron, pulling at the lapel of his fine dress robes like he wanted out of them. Though he never said it, he didn't like that she was friends with her ex again. It had taken months to reestablish their friendship, but they were important to one another. Vital. And Ron had recently taken to touching her casually, seeing and enjoying how it bothered Draco. And that evening she didn't stop him from doing so though she knew she should have. After all, Pansy had been touching Draco casually, and after her conversation with Theo she was convinced that Pansy still very much wanted him _in the carnal sense_. Draco knew it. Theo knew it. And everyone was _just bloody fine with it_.

Against her will, she continued turning the invitation over in her mind. Replaying events, and piecing together information.

_It's been awhile since you joined us. We miss you._

_It wasn't a dinner invitation._

What was it, precisely? Draco knew what they wanted, but how exactly did he know? Clearly it was a topic of conversation, or an invitation he had once accepted. Perhaps on many occasions. As she watched him, and she replayed everything over and over, she _knew_ he had accepted an invitation at some point. She _knew_ it. And they were _married_. And he'd been _with_ them. It made her insides clench when she thought of how their activities might have played out.

_I've never seen him so possessive of a woman._

Had they traded girls, or had threesomes? Foursomes? She itched to know, and didn't want to know all at the same time. His sexual history was none of her business, was it? She would be annoyed if he inquired about her _activities_ with Ron. Still, she wanted to know what the hell she had been invited to join, and couldn't stop the images floating through her mind.

_Pansy with her perfect body, sandwiched between two attractive men._

_Pansy and Draco, with Theo watching._

_Pansy and Draco. Theo in another room with Draco's mystery girlfriend._

_Theo and Draco._

No.

She looked at Draco, recalling the way he and Theo had interacted. How could she be dating a man for six months and not be certain of his sexual preferences?

The way he had avoided Pansy and Theo, but then seemed happy to see them was all very confusing.

Perhaps he was just a very skilled liar.


	4. In Plain Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have been deceptively peaceful between Draco and Hermione for their short relationship, but they're both at their breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - Rough sex. Consensual, but there is struggling.

Hermione hung her cloak on the back of her door, took a breath and readied herself for battle. Things had been deceptively peaceful between her and Draco for their short relationship, and it was time she gave voice to her concerns. Secrets kept exposing themselves, even when she wasn't looking for them, and she was tired of pretending they didn't exist, tired of digging for answers and coming up empty-handed. She turned to Draco with a rehearsed line on the tip of her tongue, but before she could speak his hands were in her hair, lips descending on hers. He demanded entrance to her mouth which she gave with a shocked gasp. It wasn't his usual style. This wasn't the tender coaxing and teasing she had grown accustomed to, it was full on war, an attack on her senses. It felt incredible, dangerous, arousing.

Their anger was palpable and that fiery emotion was right there in the way they grasped one another; her hands fisting his dress robe, his fingers curling tightly around her hip. Red flags were waiving adamantly somewhere in the back of her mind, telling her to be alarmed because he was acting unpredictably, and they should be talking through their problems like rational adults not whatever this was, but she ignored the thought and focused on the tingle of need stirring behind her navel. Her hands ran up the sides of his fine dress robes and wrapped beneath his shoulders as she bit down on his bottom lip.

"Fuck," he said as he shoved her against the wall, hiking up her dress and pressing his knee between her thighs. His hands were all over, grabbing her backside, tracing her neckline, tickling her cleavage. He hooked his fingers in the deep vee of her dress and pulled outward until her breasts were spilling from the middle.

"I've wanted to do that all night." He leaned down and sucked a peak into his mouth and then sank his teeth into the tender skin, like he was punishing her breasts for daring to expose themselves.

It sent a jolt of pleasure all the way down to her curled up toes, and she let out a surprised cry as she held him to her chest. Her head fell back against the door, eyes closing as she learned a new lesson about pain and sensuality.

With a ragged breath, he let her guide him to her other breast and she whimpered at the pinch of his teeth, wanting him to both continue and stop, be gentle with her but also...this.

His mouth slid up her chest to her neck, leaving what she was sure would be a nasty love bite as she rocked her hips against him, and she hastily unfastened his dress robe, desperate to feel his flesh beneath her hands. He complied and swiftly rid himself of the garment, then sandwiched her firmly between him and the cold wall. It left her feeling trapped. Exhilarated.

A pull of fabric around her hip and a snap told her he had literally ripped her underwear. She didn't know that was actually a thing. It sounded like a fictional and highly unlikely action, but there it was, happening to her with a man she had been with for months.

_Never like this._

Yet she had always known he wasn't really the gentlemen he made himself out to be day after day. As good as he was at maintaining that facade, he was Draco Malfoy, the same little arsehole who stomped on Harry's face while he was petrified in the train car sixth year. Though he kept it well hidden from her, there was a side of him that enjoyed inflicting pain, both physical and emotional. With a trepid heart, she wanted very much to see this side of him. To see _all of him_.

His tongue was deep and wicked in its exploration of her mouth. Seeing him lose control was, if a bit worrisome, also intensely erotic. When he cupped her bare center with his hand, she felt tingles everywhere, and each move of his fingers between her folds left her whimpering into his open mouthed kiss.

"God... you are so fucking wet," Draco growled. He had never spoken words like that before and it twisted up her insides in a way she didn't expect. "You like this, hmm? I admit I didn't think you would." His lips grazed over hers as his fingers thrusted slowly inside of her. "I've been careful with you. Maybe too careful."

She had a reply on her tongue, she really did, but as his hand grinded against her she forgot how to speak.

"Or perhaps you really enjoyed all the attention you received tonight." He leaned into her ear and whispered, "All the men looking at you. Touching you. Is that why you're so ready?"

"No! No, I-"

"Don't fucking lie to me. If you want to act like a slut, Granger," his fingers curled inside of her, hooking around her pelvic bone, "I'll treat you like one."

The fury in her veins should have returned and doubled, but her jaw was open in a silent cry at the pull and the pressure building in her core. At last she found the will to struggle against him, but her heart beat faster when he barely gave an inch. God, he was solid. She sunk her nails into his skin and his hand reached upward and clasped her jaw.

"Look at me."

She looked up and saw his eyes, dark with lust and wrath. Seeing him raw and depraved froze her to the spot.

"Is that what you want?"

To be treated like a...

Slut.

No was on the very tip of her tongue, because how fucking insulting was that, but... it wouldn't come out. His fingers moved inside of her as if demonstrating.

" _Answer me_."

His words sent a shiver through her, or maybe it was his hand. What did she want? What was he asking? She wasn't sure what she was doing anymore, but she wanted more of this. More of him like this. She moved her hips against his hand, letting him fuck her slowly with his fingers, and then she whispered, "Yes."

He kissed her roughly, moaning into her lips, then knitted his fingers in her hair and pulled his hand from between her legs, earning a squeak of discomfort from her. It didn't deter him, instead he seemed to feed on it, pulling at her dress until it was a pile at her feet. Her breath came quick, feeling confounded for a moment as she wondered what he might do next.

He unfastened his trousers with a click, his knuckles grazing over her bare stomach as he released his throbbing cock.

"I'll give you what you want," said Draco in a silky whisper as he angled her hips and positioned himself at her center.

The shudder that ran through her from head to toe was at least as much fear as arousal. She didn't fear him, but this entire situation was bloody terrifying. How much had she drank? No, no, she'd only had three glasses. He'd had even less.

Before she could ponder it further, he hiked her legs up and held her open to him, guiding his thick cock inside of her as her jaw dropped.

He exhaled a shuddering breath against her ear as he drove into her again.

She shuddered and cried out at the sudden feeling of fullness, the sharpness of his hipbones as they collided. Her hand searched for purchase on the coat hook above her, aching for control. The cloak she hung earlier fell to the ground as she held tight. She was shocked by the brand new feeling of being fucked into a wall with his face tucked into her neck, marveling that he could both hold her weight and also pound into her rhythmically.

"Yes..." Her voice was shaky and high-pitched, and the sound caught in her throat as he exited her and filled her back up.

Their ragged breath mingled together as their lips clashed and then parted. His eyes were dark and intense, and he looked almost anguished as he met her eyes.

"Like that?"

She didn't know what he wanted to hear, didn't know if he wanted this or if he was giving her what he thought she wanted.

So she touched his cheek with a tenderness that was out of place in this volatile moment. "I like everything you do to me."

"Dangerous words, Granger." He repositioned her over his hips, angling her knees higher and then he was so deep it hit that pleasure pain boundary. She cried out, her body jumping as he bounced her up and down on his cock.

"Ohmygod, yyyes..." she whimpered. Her eyes were wide with surprise and fear at her unexpected response. Her nails dug into his shoulders, punishing him in return. "Yes... OH."

So good so good so good.

Also...unsustainable. He stopped moving and pressed her firmly against the wall to keep from dropping her, his breath labored and heart pounding beneath her palm. When he had a solid hold again, he carried her four steps to the sofa and dropped her on it.

Not gently.

The same moment her back came into contact with the sofa cushion, he was positioning her legs over his shoulders and pushing himself into her. His pace steadily increased until she was crying out in that icky squeaky bedroom voice that she didn't like.

"You are so fucking sexy," he said breathlessly.

Imagining what she looked like with her legs up in the air as they were, she felt oddly empowered even though the position itself was quite the opposite of empowering. She felt, as he leaned forward, like he was trying to fold her in half, and then everything was a blur because he was fucking her so hard and fast there wasn't room for any other thought to exist.

The sound of sex filled the room, moaning and whispers, heavy breathing and slapping skin; the squeak of the sofa as he fucked her down into it. He rarely made noise in bed, but he did right then as he hovered beautifully above her with his fist clenched around the edge of the sofa cushion. It was a masculine sound, which fed a need that she didn't know she had; an ache deep within that sought to bring him such intense pleasure that he couldn't help himself. And he couldn't. The sound was ripped directly from his lungs, interjected between labored intakes of air.

Then, he sat upward with a smoldering look, grabbed her ankle and watched himself disappear inside of her. He was needlessly crude about it, but for whatever reason it was still utterly hot, the way his eyes dashed from her eyes to her center, watching her take him. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a second, as if the sight of her was too much. He couldn't take it a second longer.

She ran her hand down his bare chest and felt him shudder as his hips slowed, regaining control. He was beautiful like this. Uninhibited. But she could feel the anger and tension radiating from him and it was right there in the look he gave her. If she had to put it into words, his eyes said _don't you dare be fucking tender with me while I'm treating you like this._

And she understood then, as his thumb grazed her jawline, that he would give her what she wanted. If she touched him gently he would melt into her arms...as he appeared to be considering. If she acted like a slut, as he'd so eloquently put it, he'd give her a good solid fuck.

She readjusted her legs and her hips strategically, so she was spread open before him and...with a fierce heat rising toward her face, she ran her hand slowly from her neck...downward.

_What will you do, Draco?_

He paused and stared, awestruck as she touched herself, like she'd just fulfilled a wild fantasy. His hand tightened almost painfully on her thigh, her breathy sighs stoking his need as he watched her a moment longer. And then he pushed her thigh tight to her chest and filled her again. The angle was unforgiving, his cock striking intentionally deep with every thrust. It began to feel like divine torture, painful and wonderful and intensified by the look of pure pleasure on his face. She sobbed out loud suddenly. Not tearfully but...overhwelmedly.

"Dontstopdontstop," she whimpered and so he didn't. He kept that maddening pace and held her hips tight as he snapped against her. He watched her tremble and heard her cries and he fed on it, watching her learn about the mind-numbing rapture of being filled to the very brim and then emptied.

"You're so deep," she choked out between gasps, unable to believe she had actually just said those words aloud. It seemed rather like stating the obvious, some rational and near forgotten part of her brain replied, but when his eyes slammed shut and his hips stammered she knew he loved hearing it.

" _Fuck_ ," he gasped. He leaned down and kissed her lips appreciatively, rolling into her as she panted below him. "You take it so well," he said against her lips. "You like it deep now, Hermione?"

"Yes," she squeaked. She dug her nails into his shoulder blades, jaw dropping wide open as his pace quickened. The new angle felt so good. "Yes right there."

Delicious tightening. Oh god, the way his pelvis grinded against her while he fucked her was surely going to make her come, and she needed it like she had never before needed release.

But as she began to tense and quiver around him, he stopped moving entirely, first pinning her hips and then her arms as she plead with him under her breath. Begging him softly and shamelessly. He leaned close to her ear, seeming neither playful nor cruel. Just simply...controlling. "Mm-mm. Not until I say so."

She whimpered and cursed him because she felt like he was robbing her of something vital, both the experience she sought and also... her freedom. She'd never been pinned quite this forcefully, and she wasn't sure she liked it...not when she was so close to a mind-blowing climax...not when anger still prodded at the periphery of her mind, waging a battle of love and hate like she'd never felt. Arching up, she abandoned words and reason and sank her teeth down into his neck, punishing him back. He gasped and slammed into her as she tightened her jaw. His shoulders arched and he entered her again and again, just as she needed.

"Fuck... oh _fuck_."

In a move that shocked her his hand wrapped around her throat, and he shoved her back into the cushion. He didn't squeeze tight enough to restrict her breathing but she felt a prickle of fear at the sudden bold move. The rage in his eyes.

She squirmed and pushed at him with her hand, relieved when he let go and instead grabbed her jaw and forced her to look at him.

"You're fucking feisty tonight aren't you. I always liked you angry," he said as him thumb dug into her cheek. "Still want more?"

Want more. More of this.

_Perhaps he'll punish you later_ , Pansy said in her mind.

Impulsively, she leaned up and swiped her tongue naughtily across his bottom lip, thoroughly enjoying the way he gasped. His eyes feathered shut.

"More."

Sucking in a shaky breath, jaw clenched tight, he grabbed her hips and then flipped her over, so her arse was in the air. She squeaked, but didn't protest at his manhandling. There was something irrationally sexy about feeling like his rag doll. She hated that she liked it.

He pushed her knees tight together and entered her swift and fast. As he pummeled forward, she cried out profanities, words that so very rarely rolled of her tongue they tasted foreign.

Hair pulling was still new to her, but as he grabbed a fistful and pulled her upward she knew she liked it. Too much.

"You've been holding out on me," he said as he pulled her head back and played with her breasts. "You're a perfect whore tonight."

"Mmm... If you get to fuck me like a whore, _I get to enjoy it_."

His teeth scraped against her neck and she shivered, waiting for him to bite down and pay her back for the earlier damage she had inflicted. She struggled against him a little, liking the way he held her more tightly against him.

"Yes... _enjoy it_ , Granger," he replied with what she was certain sounded like a smile.

When he shoved her head into the sofa cushion and turned it sideways so he could see her face, she felt a rush of excitement. He let go of her hair and pressed the flat of his hand between her shoulder blades. She wriggled against him, but he weighed her down very effectively. An intake of air from behind her told her he was enjoying the struggle, that illicit indulgence, moving his hips faster and faster against her backside.

The heels of her hands pushed back against him, but he swatted them aside easily as his hips snapped forward. She tried to move her legs but he pinned them down with his own.

"Oh...god," she whimpered.

"Take it. Enjoy it."

His voice sounded menacing. Unkind. She pictured his younger self behind her, and she wasn't sure why but the thought left her quivering and bleary eyed. She wasn't afraid of him then or now, but as he fucked her relentlessly, brutally overpowering her, she thought perhaps she ought to be frightened.

He held tight to her elbow for leverage and his hips struck more forcefully. A sexy noise from him coiled up her insides. She grasped for anything in her reach, latching onto the corner of the sofa and squeezing it tightly. She was so close that her muscles were seizing up, toes pointing, the fire behind her navel threatening to explode at any second.

"Oh god..."

"Fuck yes. Come for me."

Everything faded except physical sensation. Nothing else existed except their connected bodies, his persistent thrusts and bruising grip.

She came around him with a shudder and a cry as the primal tension deep within her snapped and coiled...but he didn't slow down and draw it out like he had so many other times. His hips persisted in a bruising rhythm as she shook beneath him, and she was so overwhelmed, so sensitive, so much louder than she'd ever dared to be. His sexy growl and deep, frenzied thrusts were like nothing she had ever felt, drawing out her climax in a new and confounding way.

He was relentless, and she was still coming.

His hand flew to her hip, her name a shaky plea that she would remember and replay for weeks to come.

Suddenly she was empty, hot liquid spilling out against her backside. "Fuck. Oh… Fuck."

She pushed back against him, rolling her hips, encouraging him to keep moving. Keep rubbing. She wanted all of it.

After a few more seconds he fell forward, catching himself with an outstretched arm, and then he crushed her into the sofa.

Rolling sideways a few inches to allow her to breathe, he gasped for air, sweaty chest pressed against her back. And they laid there in a trembling heap of limbs and sticky sweat and come for a minute, both reeling and warring internally about how this might change things between them. One hand travelled slowly up her side and then pushed her hair away from her face.

She felt exposed.

"You okay?" he whispered.

She nodded, unsure how exactly she felt. Exhilarated. Concerned. She wasn't going to pretend she was unphased by his behavior or her unexpected response to it, but she wasn't a fragile doll.

After another minute of silence, she looked over her shoulder at him. He seemed distraught for a second, like he might be on the verge of an apology, but when she reached out to touch his cheek he flinched back, and then gave her a stone faced glare.

"You enjoyed watching me squirm tonight. Why."

She accio'd her robe, unable to have a serious conversation naked and slathered in his come. He was right of course. She had intentionally made him uncomfortable. "I'm tired of all your secrets."

"That's an insufficient answer. And really fucking rich coming from you." He stood up and grabbed his dress robe, flicking his wand to clean himself and...leaving her a mess. "You've plenty of secrets of your own."

"No." The lie slipped out and she wanted to swallow it. "Not like yours," she corrected, standing up and tying the belt of her robe around her waist. "We can't continue on like this."

"Like what? Happy?" He tugged up his pants and fastened his belt. "That's what I thought we were."

How could she be happy while she had this nagging feeling it wasn't real? "I tried to let it go, but every time I turn around I find something that makes me question us!"

"What is it you _think_ you found tonight?"

She was silent.

" _Answer me_."

The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't know how to form the words. "What exactly," she took a breath, gathering up her courage, "was the nature of your relationship with Pansy and Theo?"

His eyes narrowed. "What _exactly_...would make you ask me that?" When she didn't answer, he continued, "What did you and Theo talk about while you were dancing?"

She gulped. "Dinner invitations. _Optional dessert._ " His jaw clenched, but he remained eerily silent. "You should have told me."

"I didn't think you'd be interested. Was I wrong? Does it..." he stepped forward, "interest you?"

"Interest..." her jaw snapped shut and she said through gritted teeth, "That's not what I meant. You lied to me. You're the one who-who-"

"I have a history of doing all sorts of lavicious and generally unacceptable things. You knew that long before we started seeing each other." Below the surface of his words was barely controlled rage. She could feel it simmering. "But you... flirting with them? I didn't see that coming."

"I did not flirt-"

"Holding hands with Pansy. Dancing with Theo. Conversing with him about dessert." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. "What the fuck would you call it."

Her heart raced and she felt prickles down her spine.

"I'd call it _gathering information_. I'm finished with your secrets."

"What information are you looking for? What the fuck do you want?"

A thousand questions were floating through her mind. There was a thick layer of distrust between them.

"What do you want from me, Granger." He said it forcefully and the treble made her flinch. He wasn't rational. "Tell me," he demanded with an edge to his voice that she didn't like. He had never scared her before, but he did right then.

His hand was tightening almost painfully around her wrist. She reached out, instinctively ready to accio her wand.

He glanced down to her outstretched hand and the expression on his face terrified her. Panic rose up in her chest.

What happened next was the very last thing she had expected.

He grabbed her face and he forced himself... into her mind.

He was a Legilimens. God, she felt so blindsided. Though she tried to pull away, close her eyes tight, block him with distracting thoughts and a maze of walls, it had been years since she had practiced at occlumency.

He pushed past every obstacle like it was nothing at all.

First, it was her memories.

_I don't know, Harry. He's changed, but he's still Malfoy._

_Yes, Ron. I know you're sorry. We'll always be friends, we just can't..._

_Pansy's dress drops to the ground in a heap. As I said, I'm not a saint._

_I know things you don't. You know things I don't. Perhaps together we would have the whole picture._

_Theo's hand on her back, his hand in hers, his crooked smile. I do hope you'll consider it._

Draco's grip tightened painfully on her face.

He dug deeper, tapping into an area of her mind that had nothing to do with memory and everything to do with her thoughts. Hidden insecurities. It was like he had burst through a closed door, and she almost shrieked from the flood of emotion that was unleashed. All her doubts were right there at the forefront of her mind. Her eyes welled up with tears as she tried to shake herself loose and close herself off from the invasion of privacy. Her vision blurred.

_Her parents didn't love her. They didn't know her, so how could they? Love was supposed to be forever though, and love for a child should be infinite, shouldn't it? How could magic kill it off so completely?_

_Harry and Ron, they loved her, and they were also completely and utterly annoyed by her. Their eyes said what they never would. Please, just stop talking, Hermione. Stop nagging. Go away._

_Draco could never love her. Not really. He could never be happy with a mudblood. He wouldn't have halfblood children and sully his perfect lineage._

_It was too hard to bear, seeing him daily and barely knowing him. Uncovering secrets and lies. The locked room in the east wing. The breakup with Ron that she was sure he had orchestrated. The way he kept her away, hid her from his pure blooded friends, his parents. He was ashamed of her, she knew it._

_His relationship with Pansy and Theo. Something was different about them. They had secrets. They knew him better than she did._

_Against her will, her mind conjured an image of Pansy with her perfect hair and pouty lips, kissing him in in the corridor fifth year, his hand slung low on her hip, moving together like only lovers would._

_What did it feel like to kiss her, and why did she sort of want to?_

His nails dug into her cheeks. He found what he was looking for and sliced away at her defenses until it all bled out.

_Pansy was seductive and beautiful and she was drawn to her in an uncomfortable way. Soft skin, round curves that begged to be touched. She was a lucky woman, to have been with two attractive men. Did she have them at the same time? What would it be like? Did Draco enjoy such things and was that what he wanted? Was he attracted to Theo? Why did she think it was sexy that he might be, and was she a pervert for thinking all these obscene thoughts? Theo, that beautiful man with his kissable lips. She could picture them together and it was lovely._

_Not her Draco._

_They couldn't have him, he belonged to her. But god Theo was sexy and she liked the way he flushed and his deceivingly innocent smile. Was it normal to want to be wanted by them?_

_If you want to act like a slut, Granger, I'll treat you like one._

_Why had she allowed herself to be treated that way? Had she no self respect?_

_Was Draco satisfied with her, or secretly laughing about her inexperience? Did he compare her to the other witches he'd been with? Did she measure up? How many had there been before her? Ten? Twenty? More than that? Where did she rank - bottom of the list?_

_Draco Malfoy. So beautiful. His face, his hands, his body. She hated his mark, but even more, she hated when he hid it from her and pretended it wasn't a part of him. She hated his hair. He looked like Lucius when he let it grow long. Why wouldn't he cut it? Did he want to be his father? God she hated Lucius, but she loved his son so so much. She loved his sarcasm. Quick wit. Sharp mind. Was he a good man? Was he evil and she was seeing what she wanted to see? She loved the way he made her feel. Like no other man had made her feel. How could she love someone so fucking much when they had treated her so poorly?_

His hand softened its grip.

_Completely in love. Intensely. Her inner most desire: to be loved, to be his wife, to bear his children._

_Don't tell him._

_Don't let him know._

_Did he really care for her or was it all some sick joke? Did he know the lengths she would go to to please him? Would he take advantage of it? Did he distrust her as severely as she distrusted him? Could she live alongside someone she couldn't trust? Someone who so clearly didn't trust her?_

_Could she ever forgive him for exposing all of these thoughts? Would he even want her at all now that he knew how bloody insecure she was?_

"Stop," she sobbed with a whisper as his control slipped, "Please."

He jerked backward and exited her mind, breathing heavily.

Her eyes were stinging, tears pouring down her cheeks. She was utterly humiliated and she hated him so thoroughly in that moment she could not look at him a second longer.

"GET OUT," she screeched with more ferocity than she could ever recall. "OUT! Accio wand!" It flew into her grip and he took two quick steps backward. She was seconds away from casting a banishment charm to send him flying out on his arse to the perimeter of the building.

"I'm sorry."

"OUT!" She screeched, with the bitter taste of betrayal on her tongue.

He opened the door, and then he walked out of it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco stole Hermione's most guarded thoughts...now he seeks forgiveness.

Draco's eagle owl sat perched at her bedroom window, waiting for her to draft a reply to a letter she couldn't bring herself to open. The entire morning and early afternoon had been spent in bed, alternately crying and then reading to distract herself.

Researching.

Three books were spread open on her blanket, the only three in her over-stuffed bookcase that contained any mention of legilimency or occlumency.

They didn't tell her much more than she already knew, but as she read through them with a new and terrifying perspective, things that didn't seem to matter before struck her as more important. The difference between the mind and the physical brain. Neural pathways. Layers of consciousness. The _network_ of memories. All the information she learned landed differently after being the victim of such an invasive attack.

There was once a legilimens so strong he could stop a heart from beating. Eyes from seeing.

Hermione slammed the book closed and pulled her knees close to her chest.

The sort of skill Draco had demonstrated almost always required either advanced training and years of dedicated practice, or a rare, natural ability that manifested in a persons youth.

She was fairly certain Draco _wasn't_ a natural legilimens. He would have acted differently when he was at Hogwarts, known things that he clearly hadn't known, and he'd have used it against her and Ron and Harry. She had no doubt.

But it had only been six years since Hogwarts. How had he gotten so good, so quickly? He _must_ have had training.

Or, did he possess a lesser ability which had been heightened because he was—emotional? Angry? People were capable of incredible things under the right conditions, but something about the way he'd navigated her thoughts—methodically, like he did everything, told her that he _did_ have advanced training. Quite a lot of it.

Hermione shuddered and pulled her blanket more snuggly around her. It was a red and orange knitted blanket that Molly had made for her and Ron years before. When life had been different. Easier. Before she'd been lured away by a puzzle of a man who she thought might be _good_ beneath all his mystery. It was naive, she thought, to believe that he had changed when she'd known from the beginning of their relationship that he was hiding things.

He'd been hiding a formidable skill, one which he'd likely used to manipulate her since before their first date.

Dark looks. Too many coincidences. An uncanny ability to know what she needed and wanted—

She should have realized.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Hermione glared at the owl again and then eyed the envelope in her hand wearily, turning it over and over. Its contents worried her. He'd exposed insecurities she'd once brushed off as irrational, the same ones that arose every now and then when she was in a difficult situation. She usually she shoved those thoughts right back in their place when they bubbled to the surface, before they could affect her life, but since he'd attacked her, it was much harder to close the door on those negative thoughts.

They were all right there at the forefront of her mind when she finally tore open the envelope and read his perfectly penned script.

_I love you. Please forgive me._

A wretched sob tore from her lungs, the kind that she had only allowed herself a few times since early childhood. Her sadness felt powerful, overwhelming, fueled by and simultaneously consuming every happy memory she had of her relationship with Draco Malfoy.

How could he do this to her and then proclaim to love her? Why would he give her the gift she had wanted most, only after taking away all the reasons she had wanted it?

Hermione curled up with her pillow beneath her, reading and rereading those words.

_Love_.

Draco's supposed love was a _curse_ and she didn't want it. His _love_ was possessive and invasive, propelling him to do atrocious things and then somehow expect forgiveness for them.

She couldn't.

Never.

Ten minutes later, the stupid owl was still pecking at the window—more aggressive with each passing minute. Her quill shook between her fingertips, hovering over the parchment. Something strong—brief—

_Fuck off._

She exhaled slowly through her lips. Definitely the most abrasive words she'd ever written in her life, but nothing else seemed quite adequate. Hermione handed the note to his owl and slammed the window shut, staring out as he flew across the small courtyard and up above the neighboring building.

She sank down under her covers, determined to sleep off this nightmare and find a way to move past it.

—

A persistent knock at her front door forced her to rise again an hour later, and a sick feeling in her stomach told her it was Draco.

She slid out of the blankets.

_Knock, knock, knock._

She walked slowly down her hallway toward the living room.

"Hermione—please."

She stopped and braced herself against the wall, a photograph of her with Ron and Harry reminding her that she had been through worse things. Faced worse villains. She was strong enough to handle Draco Malfoy.

_Knock, knock, knock._

She approached the door and touched it. "Let me in," she heard him say as bile rose thick in her throat. Her wand shook in her palm.

"I'll do anything to make this right. Anything you want."

He couldn't do anything to— _make this right_. What made him think—

"Please. Just give me five minutes."

Her eyes were stinging again. How did she still have tears left?

She felt a light thump against the door. His head or his fist, she didn't know. "I need to see you. I swear to god, Granger, I will stand outside this door all night. I will wait as long as it takes."

Quiet sobs wracked her body at the sound of his words. He knew every single thing she hadn't wanted him to know. Things she hadn't wanted anyone to know. He'd stolen all of her secrets.

Wiping her face with her sleeve, she willed herself to stop trembling and calm down. Hiding from him wasn't a sustainable option, but—she really had hoped to delay the inevitable for as long as she could.

With her wand still tightly clasped, she opened the door.

His face was pale, and his eyes looked haunted. Remorseful. Looking upon him sent a dagger through her chest and the look he gave her said he was struck by the same blade, and a strange feeling tugged at her, one that said he was just—Draco. The same man she'd slept beside and taken meals with. The same man who had charmed her with his wit and taken her to symphonies and played quidditch with Harry on the weekends.

She had nothing to fear from the man she loved—the man who claimed to love her.

Except... _she did_.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, words steeped in remorse.

"Not good enough," she whispered back.

"I know." He took a breath. "Can I come in?"

She shook her head left and right, not quite trusting her voice.

He looked around the corridor with a pained expression and then glanced down at her wand. "Is that really necessary?"

"I cannot trust you, Draco," said Hermione as her fingers tightened around the vine wood.

He stiffened, his eyes flitting from the tip of her wand, which was presently pointed at his heart, up to her face. Lines formed around his temples, like he was physically pained at the thought that she might want to hurt him.

Indeed, he had good reason to worry. She was planning out the sequence of spells she might use to disable and banish him, and she was determined to use them if he stepped one foot closer.

"Can we walk in the courtyard?" he asked.

"Why?" she snapped.

"You have questions," said Draco, pressing a hand against the door frame and looking at it, like the sight of her with a wand pointed at him was just—too much. "I can answer them, if you'll let me."

"How can I trust _anything_ you say?"

He swallowed, pushing off the door frame with a resigned look. "Because you're the smartest person I know. You'll know the truth when you hear it."

The only thing Hermione felt more strongly than fear and anger in that moment was—curiosity. It had always been her weakness, wanting to know and understand. She wanted to know all the things he'd been hiding from her: his skill, how he had acquired it, how he'd been using it and—a hundred other unanswered questions that had been piling up in her mind for the last four months. She _needed_ to know.

Hermione studied the lines around his eyes, matched by planes and grooves between his brows. He was a very convincing liar. She'd never assume anything with him was authentic again.

Her hand clasped around the edge of the door. The decision had already been made, and all she had to do was commit to it. Set aside her fear and take what he offered.

"I'll meet you in the courtyard."

She pushed the door shut and leaned against it, a deep inhale only giving strength to her ensuing bout of tears.

Ten minutes later, she'd finally managed to tug on her denims and an oversized sweatshirt. Throw her hair in a slightly less messy bun. Wash the salty tears off her face and steady herself for what was to come.

He was waiting for her on a bench overlooking the garden—the answers to her questions all perfectly prepared. She was certain of it.

Half-truths, well kept secrets, air-tight defenses and well-timed deflection—they had only worked because she wanted to see the best in him.

Now, she just wanted to see the truth.

He stood up and offered her a cup of coffee from the muggle cart across the way. The one she stopped at sometimes when his wandering hands kept her up too late or woke her too early.

She looked at it disdainfully, like he was using it as a weapon against her.

"I'm trying," he said, voice abnormally tight.

She took the cup, careful not to touch his hand, and sat down at the furthest edge of the bench. The sun was low in the sky, and the shadows felt long. Ominous.

"Where did you learn it?" she asked, not wanting to wait for him to fill the silence with more meaningless apologies.

He looked down at his cup, watching the steam rise.

"Snape trained me."

" _Snape_ —"

"—Seventh year."

Hermione fit the pieces together in her mind, the facts she knew. Timelines. Motives. The disaster that had been Harry's occlumency training with said professor.

"How were you trained?" she asked. When he seemed unsure how to answer her question, she added, "Who did you practice on? He wouldn't have let you practice on _him_."

An image had already planted itself in her mind—interrogations led by the _headmaster_ , faceless people forced into compliance as Snape instructed his once favorite student how to invade their mind.

"Theo."

The name hovered in the air, like a dark cloud above them. The catalyst of their argument the night before. Of so many tense moments since the start of their relationship. He took a deep breath and continued.

"He was in training as well," said Draco.

She exhaled audibly, more of a whoosh than a sigh.

"Theo's a legilimens too?"

"Not the best, but I'm sure he's an asset to the Auror department. And he's an expert at defense," replied Draco.

If he were trained—then Harry and Ron would surely _know_ —wouldn't they? Her line of thought stalled as Draco continued.

"It felt a bit like we were pitted against one another for Snape's amusement at first, but after it all ended—" He turned his hand, palm tilted upward. "I assume it was strategic. Like everything else Snape had done."

"His end goal?" Hermione asked.

He shrugged. "Maybe to save us. Maybe to turn us." The way he twisted his cup in his hands told her he was anxious, but his face was void of emotion. "Or maybe he was just plying along with one of Bella's schemes."

Hermione shuddered at the mention of Bella. Draco had never spoken of her, and he'd made it politely clear early in their relationship that she wasn't a topic he was willing to discuss. She looked closely at him, at all the telltale signs of his discomfort, wondering at his history with Bellatrix and Snape and...Theo. His history as a death eater, which she'd convinced herself was only a label. He wasn't like the others.

She wasn't as certain of that anymore.

Hermione swallowed and then twisted in her seat, nearly forgetting her coffee until it sloshed against her hand. "Theo wasn't marked," she stated, letting the question ask itself.

"It was planned for the summer. His father insisted upon it." The silence took hold for a moment. "We shared a room, classes, friends— it was like training all day, every day. _Always_ on guard. But, we knew everything about one another after a couple of months." He fixed her with a look that said he didn't want to say his next words. "We were planning to run, Hermione."

A strange feeling settled in her gut.

Two spoilt, rich, seventeen year old boys caught up in a war that might eventually kill them...of course they would run. Together.

It all rang of truth so far.

"You would have left your parents?"

He took a steadying breath. "I was conflicted about leaving my mother, but it's important you understand...She was _very_ complacent. She never would have left my father behind and...he and Bella had my future all planned out for me."

"But Theo—" he continued before she could ask the question on the tip of her tongue, "he wanted to shape his future for himself. He had all these grand ideas. Dreams of exploring the world. I wanted that more than anything else to just...leave with him."

"And you did. After the trials," said Hermione.

Another question that asked itself. Draco said he traveled the world the year after the war, and though he'd never mentioned a companion outright, she'd always suspected there was—someone. Knew that he wouldn't have considered sleeping in a f _ilthy muggle hotel_ without someone there to drag him into it.

"Yes, I did."

He took a drink of his coffee, staring out at the trees, the pathway, two muggle children climbing a tree haphazardly. And she wondered again about the nature of Draco's relationship with Theo. That he would follow him across the world... fail to mention Theo's presence... that he would both avoid him and yet seem to _miss_ him—

That part—it was none of her business and it had no bearing on their present.

She forced her mind to refocus on what was most relevant.

"You said they had your future planned. What future was it that you were running from?"

"Their focus was on making me valuable. Keeping us safe by catapulting me up the ranks."

He glanced at her and then away. For years Hermione had told herself that Draco's role in the war was insignificant. He was coerced, dragged along against his will, a scared boy who became a better man because of his experiences. He'd been tried before the Wizengamot and released.

But she'd never seen his trial records. They had been _sealed_.

"Is there other training you've failed to mention?"

It was a sweeping ask, offering him the opportunity to come clean and share anything he had failed to before. There was—something. She knew it. She just didn't know the right questions to ask.

He tilted his head with the shadow of a grimace. "I spent two summers with Bellatrix. You know that."

"Not because you told me," replied Hermione. The only reason she knew was because it was common knowledge, that Bellatrix had resided with the Malfoy's. "What did she teach you?"

He visibly tensed. "The sort of things you'd expect her to teach."

"You're being evasive—"

"—You're digging for things that don't matter," he bit out.

"Like the fact that you're a legilimens, Draco? You didn't think that was an important thing to share?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm truly—I cannot apologize enough for it."

There was a change in the air around them as soon as the words left his mouth.

"You're right, Draco. You cannot. You _stole my thoughts_ ," she said, heart breaking over every syllable.

"—It was wrong of me."

"And yet—" her anguish ignited into fury as she continued, "you did it anyway. You hid your skill from me for months and when I was vulnerable, you took _everything_." She was silent for a long stretch before continuing. "Have you been using your skill on me this whole time, grazing my thoughts when I was unaware?"

He shook his head.

_Liar_.

"I don't enjoy the skill, Granger. It's useful sometimes but mostly it's—fucking awful." He looked at her, pleading with his eyes, but she had no sympathy to offer him.

"Answer my question," she demanded. "Honestly."

All the pain she held at bay was transforming into a malignant paranoia. How good was he exactly? Could he hear what she was thinking at that very moment?

She couldn't trust her own mind to keep her thoughts private.

"I catch glimpses sometimes," he said. "Even if I'm not trying."

She held back a bitter laugh. God, she _knew_ it. Hadn't even needed to ask really. "What kind of glimpses?" she demanded, uncertain she wanted to know. Uncertain she could trust his response.

"It's like a person speaking quietly to themselves, when they didn't say anything aloud. Or sometimes it's a feeling...And it takes a minute to realize it doesn't belong to me. Sometimes it's a memory." He made a sound deep in his throat, like something was caught there. "And the awful thing with those... glimpses... I can't always tell if the memory is from last week or last year. If it really happened or if it was a vivid dream."

The books she had read on legilimency said very similar things. The few who were born with the skill spent their formative years sorting through who's thoughts belonged to who, what was real and what wasn't. Perhaps he'd learned the skill too quickly, developed the ability to peer into a persons mind without learning how to correctly interpret what he saw. One could go mad—lose touch with reality—

"It isn't an excuse for what I've done," Draco continued, plucking at his collar like it was suffocating him, "but I was so fucking confused last night. Do you know how many people at the gala were thinking about undressing you? And Weasley—he was thinking of a memory while he had his arm around your waist. The two of you in the shower. You were on your knees and—it could have been last year or yesterday, Granger. _I had no fucking clue_."

Her entire body felt rigid as she fought humiliation. She suspected she knew the old memory Ron had thought of and—that wasn't supposed to be seen by anyone. It was hers and Ron's alone.

She wrapped her arm around herself, only half-conscious of the action. It was a violation of her privacy.

"I didn't look for it. I didn't want to see that." And the pained look on his face was really very convincing. So much so that she struggled _not_ to believe him. He wouldn't want to see those things. He _hated_ Ron. It would kill him to see them together, wouldn't it?

Just as she felt herself softening, a fresh bout of anger rose up within her.

"You could have trusted me not to betray you."

"—And I would have any other day, but— _Pansy_. She was thinking about a memory of you _undressing her_ that didn't make _any fucking sense_."

He pushed his hand through his hair.

"And it made me wonder how well I knew you," he went on. "You were acting differently. Flirting with people to spite me...angry because _you_ couldn't trust _me_... And once we were alone," his eyes drifted over her collar like he was looking for the evidence of what they had done, "I couldn't really tell which emotions were yours or mine."

Her chest felt like it was caving in under the weight of his words. She tried to grasp the experience from his perspective, but it slipped through her fingers like oil. Slick. Dangerous. Blinding.

Even if there was a reason for his anger, there was no excuse for his actions. He had an advantage she didn't.

"You should have told me you were a legilimens," she continued, breath coming more quickly. "If I had known, things would have happened differently—"

"They wouldn't have happened at all. You'd have left me a long time ago," he said, an accusation she found frustrating but also difficult to refute.

If she had known at that first and second date that he might be reading her thoughts, every single thing he had done would have seemed contrived.

It certainly seemed that way in retrospect.

And if she had learned of his skill _after_ their first few dates, she'd have felt misled. Betrayed.

"It would have been my right, to make that decision," she said, being as honest as she could, "but instead you deceived me. You left me _defenseless_ against you. Ignorant to your ability. I knew you were hiding things, Draco. But I never suspected...how could I not have known?"

He turned to face her, his hand on the back of the bench. "I was careful. I didn't want to lose you."

"You must have known it was going to come out eventually—"

"—But I didn't—" he turned further, preparing a defense.

"—How long would you have tried to keep it from me? Months? Years?"

His face twisted bitterly. "I never thought we had a future that length, Hermione."

The words twisted behind her rib cage. Of all the things he said, somehow that hurt the most. Felt like the biggest lie he'd ever told her.

_You are my future._

"Why are you here, Draco?" She rubbed her forehead, trying to ignore a tension headache that had been building since before she walked out. Even if everything he said infuriated her, it had all made sense to this point. But why bother with _any of this_ if he never thought they had a future?

"I was wrong," he replied quietly. "You love me more than I thought you did and I'm not planning to let that go."

Her eyes widened. "You think—Draco you've ruined _any chance_..."

His head tilted curiously. "Have I?"

"Do you have any idea what you've _done_ —" she gripped the bench, "the damage—this is _irreparable_ —"

When she closed her eyes against the onslaught of emotion, she could imagine him turning over her most hidden thoughts, deciding what to make of them. She'd never felt so violated—so _betrayed_ —

She let out a breath through pursed lips and forced herself to calm down. She didn't want him to see her so vulnerable. Not again. Never again.

"Why are you here, Hermione?" His voice, that smooth effortless charm he'd employed so often during their relationship, it wouldn't work on her again. He thought he knew her now, but he was wrong. "Why do you ask your questions and seek your answers. And—" he leaned closer, "—why should I give you any answers at all if this is the _end_ of us?"

She leaned back for space and glared at him. This was far more blatant than all the other ways he had manipulated her. It lacked the finesse—

Stay the course and get your answers. Leave and learn nothing.

It was an ultimatum.

She remained silent, her eyes glazed with tears she refused to shed. Why _did_ she need answers? Was it really so horrible to walk away and let him have his awful secrets?

Yes, she realized. He'd taken all of her secrets, fleshed out every private thought—and she didn't even know how he spent most of his days. Why he disappeared so often. What was in the room. And—exactly what part had he played in Voldemort's army? There was something—something dark—

She had to know.

Maybe the man she'd fallen in love with never existed at all, or maybe he did and he would spin her a tragic narrative that — wouldn't change the ending.

Because the trust between them was never there, and it never could be. The balance of power between them was steeply in his favor. Every moment she spent with him going forward, she would worry what he saw in her mind. In other peoples. How he might interpret his _glimpses_. What would set him off and how the inevitable explosion could—break her.

She looked straight ahead, her eyes falling on the two children who had been climbing the tree. They were playing hide and seek, or perhaps they were just—hiding.

"As I said," he continued, "I'll answer your questions, but it's a lot to discuss at once. I can't tell you what you want to know in one evening without leaving important things out."

She resisted the urge to snort. He could drag this out over days, weeks, longer. And in the mean time, he could spin his lies, sprinkle them with half-truths, graze her thoughts—

Draco Malfoy needed to pay his penance.

"Meet me for dinner tomorrow," he said, but—she was shaking her head before he finished his sentence. "Drinks if you prefer—"

She almost laughed, but it was distorted by a pained sort of sound.

He sat back calmly and waited her out, still troubled but far more confident than he had any right to be. He had known she'd say yes before he arrived on her doorstep.

"Dinner's fine," she said bitterly. "No romantic overtures, Draco. I swear to Merlin I will walk out."

She stood up and put her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, perfectly aware of how odd they looked together. Her in baggy muggle clothes. Draco in tailored and pressed wizards robes.

He stood up and stepped closer. Too close.

"Hermione, I want what you want," he said quietly, more emotion in his voice than she was used to, "A life together. I'll give you— _everything_. Anything you want."

She stared at the fold of his collar, unwilling to entertain the warm wisps of hope that tried and failed to wrap around her heart.

He couldn't fix this.

"I want the truth," she said, meeting his eyes bravely. "All of it."

He tilted his head, just a little.

"Tomorrow then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay in updating this fic. Next chapter will be posted the first week of March.


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